2007 AML Conference Session: “Purified by the Best Critics”
By Patricia Karamesines | 4.17.07
In the July 1977 issue of Ensign, President Kimball said:
We are proud of the artistic heritage that the Church has brought to us from its earliest beginnings, but the full story of Mormonism has never yet been written nor painted nor sculpted nor spoken. It remains for inspired hearts and talented fingers yet to reveal themselves. They must be faithful, inspired, active Church members to give life and feeling and true perspective to a subject so worthy. Such masterpieces should run for months in every movie center, cover every part of the globe in the tongues of the people, written by the best artists, purified by the best critics (”The Gospel Vision of the Arts,” pg. 5).
This AML session, “Purified by the Best Critics: Fostering Artistically Informed Criticisms and Critically Informed Art,” took its title from the above quote. A panel consisting of Bruce Jorgensen (BYU English department), Dennis Packard (BYU philosphy), Mike Smith (Orem Public Library), Travis Anderson (BYU philosophy), and Eric Samuelson (BYU theater arts) discussed questions the session’s title raised. Every member of the panel offered insightful remarks (hopefully other AMVers will cover those), but in this post I’ll concentrate on the points of view Dennis Packard and Bruce Jorgensen offered because the interesting counterpoint notes that rose between these two presentations snagged my attention.
Dennis Packard chaired the panel and opened the topic. He wondered how artists could be purified by the best critics, since generally writers [or other artists] are not happy with critics. Packard expressed his interest in the disconnect between critics and creativity and mused upon how that disconnect might be repaired. He asked, how might libraries help bring critics and creators [Packard's word] together? How can teachers help?
Packard said he sees librarians acting as critics in that their professional knowledge of books and films and their acquisitive imperative makes it possible for them to be aware of what’s going on in the publishing and motions picture industries. Packard suggested that libraries could help literary and film critics by recommending books and films to critique. They could aid critics by providing links to the best criticisms available on relevant books and films. Libraries, Packard said, pick what’s best.
Furthermore, when the question arises, librarians could point to places where a critic might submit his or her appraisal of a work. They could provide opportunities for critics to meet with audiences to test works in progress and guide audience response.
Librarians, Packard said, could act as liasons between producers of creative works and critics and creators with works in progress. Librarians could field e-mail queries on critical problems: “What have you got that I can look at.”
Similar questions arise regarding where teachers might help repair the broken or weak link between creators with critics. Teachers, Packard suggested, ought to teach critical theory most relevant to creators of literary or filmic works. Furthermore, teachers ought to help students (as potential critics and portential artists) be sympathetic to critics and critics be sympathetic to creators. Critics ought to be taught how to make suggestions to artists; also, if critics engage in creative projects themselves it will help them know how to connect with the artist. Comparative film and lit programs could provide educational fodder for both artists and critics. Why not show Glory and The Work and the Glory together for purposes of artistic compare and contrast?
Packard’s questions and comments seemed to presume the necessity of critical feedback during many steps, if not every step, of the creative process. Yet in spite of this preceived necessity, he acknowledged that the problem remains that there is an unfortunate disconnect between critics and artists: artists don’t like and don’t immediately adopt critics’ suggestions and frequently reject out-of-hand the critic-artist relationship. He seemed to see this disconnect largely as a problem of education: critics need to be better educated in their craft, artists need to be taught how to accept better-informed critical review, and librarians and teachers can help in this process. Also, if critics can engage in some creative endeavor themselves, then perhaps they’ll see better how to communicate with artists.
Besides addressing the broader topic of the panel, Bruce Jorgensen’s comments seemed to address Packard’s points directly. On the broader topic, Jorgensen raised the point that President Kimball’s vision of the arts requires exegesis: What does he mean when he says this? Kimball prophesies that “…bright stars will arise” (from where? BYU? he wondered by way, I believe, of questioning the “purity” of sky in which they’ll arise) but “doesn’t,” he pointed out, ”say whether they’ll be faithful members.”
“And who,” Jorgensen wondered, “are the best critics?” His answer to this question grabbed my attention and put words to something I’d felt but hadn’t yet articulated in my own musings upon literary nature writing. “The best critics of the arts is done by artists,” he said. One artist’s work answers and critiques another. Fellow workers in the same craft are good critics. He quoted Harold Bloom as saying that the great artists of the past stand over present artists, creating an of anxiety of influence. Later artists, Bloom asserts, have to get out from under their “mother and father” artists. “The older artist is the critic of the younger artist,” Jorgensen said.
“The idea of a work in progress being criticized is a weird process,” Jorgensen said. A work in progress needs help, not criticism: “I like what you’re trying to do. Let me help you with it.” Generosity is important to this process.
Teachers, Jorgensen said, are middlemen: Students’ work critiqued and taught him. Teachers ought to help people read better, “to read like writers.” To a degree, this process will involve discussion. He quoted Henry James, “Art thrives on discussion,” even discussion of a theoretical nature. Also, art thrives on experiment, and experiment always precedes the discussion of itself. But Jorgensen feels that at times during the creative process, critics — I assumed he meant formal critics – need to be kept out of the way. As the artist works and the work takes shape, any feedback an artist receives ought to be informed by “a long history of affection and trust.” At least at times this process will be quite intimate, a trusting tete-a-tete between artists who are friends. Critics need not apply.
The Association for Mormon Letters, he said, should do what it can to foster discussion groups and sponsor readings, maybe even readings where writers, if they’re willing, could read from their works in progress.
I got an impression that Jorgensen might have thought that the title of the panel, “Purified by the Best Critics,” placed undue emphasis upon the role of criticism, especially where “criticism” is assumed to mean formal criticism done by people who are not artists. Also, such a title and the assumptions that fly with it places an undue burden upon the artist to be ”purified.” Who would “purify” an artist, and why? Artistic tradition contains built-in critical process, an intrinsic critical dialogue that unfolds between the works of younger artists engaging an artistic tradition and older artists whose works define the tradition. Furthermore, trust and affection, such as exists in long-standing relationships between artists, is key to the critical development of a work. Critics cannot presume investment of such trust simply because they hold an office of “formal critic.” Implicit in this point, and in Jorgensen’s raising it in the context of remarks made during in the panel discussion, is the belief that one aspect of the breach between critics and artists lies in problems of trust and affection, especially where critics lack long-standing friendships with artists. Education may help partly bridge the gap between critics and artists, but ultimately the deeper, most effective critical bonds run between artists, both artists who are friends and have built up a creative critical tradition between them, and between younger artists whose works engage the critical tradition that older, acknowledged artists have opened for discussion. In this way, the breach between artists and critics cannot be fixed. In fact, formal critics may find themselves shut out from this energetic and intimate process, as at times they should be.
4.17.07 | 1:27 pm | comment permalink |
Criticism (or at least the good kind) is also a creative process and a discussion that answers and is influenced by other criticism and other works of art.
I understand what Jorgensen is saying about shielding the artistic process, but I also think that the critical culture that develops among artists can sometimes have a negative, self-reinforcing affect. And the history of artists is rife with examples of where long-standing friendships break down, either dissolve or explode.
I’m not sure what Jorgensen means by holding the office of formal critic and why that precludes critics from developing affection and trust with artists. It sounds to me like a very narrow definition of “critic.”
4.17.07 | 2:21 pm | comment permalink |
William, that “holding the office of formal critic” is my comment upon Jorgensen’s meaning and not his words. I think Jorgensen understands very well that criticism itself is a creative process and has its purpose (gosh, I think I took a criticism class from him as well as a creative writing class, and he has written critical matter taking certain Mormon poets to task, for instance, for not doing better than they did); I think he might have been remarking upon Packard’s insertion of the critical process into as many steps of the poem’s/essay’s/screenplay’s/novel’s creations as Packard seemed to be doing.
About the trust issue: Again, I don’t think that Jorgensen is talking about “shielding” the artistic process; trust isn’t only about seeking or offering shielding or protection. I think he’s saying that some elements of artistic process ought to be left to artists rather than to critics, artists being the best critics of artists (for the reasons stated he stated above).
It is true that artists sometimes break with each other over creative differences. But other relationships between artists foster “trust and affection” that lead to vital creative energy and insight. Eric Samuelson also emphasized the role trust plays when he seeks feedback on a work, and how he’ll usually turn to an artistically active friend rather than a reviewer or critic to hear what matters. Hopefully another AMVer will report his remarks in context.
I don’t think that Jorgensen meant that formal critics and artists can never be friends. I think he might have been objecting to seemingly broad and unspoken assumptions floating around in the session about who the best critics were and how their criticisms “purify” artists. I appreciated his addressing the questions he did; his objections were well-spoken and gave the session more, well, critical heft.
And maybe there is a breach between artists and critics that cannot be wholly patched. Maybe that gap serves a meaningful purpose for everyone involved.
4.17.07 | 3:12 pm | comment permalink |
Thanks for this write-up, Patricia. I was sad to miss this session (had to read poetry at the same time elsewhere).
I’m interested in the things Bruce said, all of which I believe I agree with. I especially agree with his words about the role of a teacher, particularly since Bruce was my teacher and I learned the most from him through the way he taught me to read other artists’ work (reading as a writer, as he says).
Also, I really agree with what he said about the necessity of trust between artist and critic. I think that’s why we were all over Chris Heimerdinger on the List with his shallow criticisms of Dutcher. True criticism (meaning, that which can be learned from and will bring results) requires a measure of respect on the part of the critic.
And as I write that I am questioning myself–maybe I was just upset about the Heimerdinger thing because I thought Dutcher’s work, although not perfect (and therefore capable of benefitting from criticism), was basically honest and worthwhile. Would I have minded if Heimerdinger had been criticizing something else, a work that I hadn’t as high an opinion of? Maybe not. Regardless, I have no doubt that I, as an artist, would not benefit from criticism that didn’t seem informed by both an awareness of the genre in which I was writing and also a basic respect for the desires of my heart (also, it is helpful if my critic seems to recognize some sort of potential in me).
I remember when a relative (who reads no short stories) read a short story of mine that had won an award. His only comment: “I didn’t like it. It had too much sweat in it.” Not the most helpful criticism. But, coming from another, more educated reader who had been following my work already, I can imagine taking the comment seriously–did I really mention sweat too much? Does it stand out awkwardly?
4.17.07 | 3:52 pm | comment permalink |
Thanks for the clarifications, Patricia. I wish I had been able to attend the session.
I think the problem as I see it is that much of Mormon literature (the little of it that there is) seems to be produced under the more Creative Writing department model that predominates in American literature today [with its emphasis on workshopping and confined models of artistic expression and production]. I don’t dispute that that model hasn’t and can’t produce great literature. But I do think that Mormon literature in particular should try to experiment.
For example, to my knowledge we haven’t seen any “strong” editor-produced work, where an editor [I recognize that many critics and writers think this method is horrific, but perhaps its worth a shot -- esp. in film] takes work by a talented but unfocused author and gives it shape.
Nor have we seen much work created as a result of vigorous theoretical-ideological discussion, where critics hash out some of the parameters (formal, thematic, etc.) and attitudes and artists attempt to use those in their work.
And perhaps there are other methods that could be fruitful. To me the biggest problem with Mormon fiction — both genre and literary fiction — is that what we produce seems to be a decade or so behind what the broader culture is producing. Maybe we’re stuck with that. And if so, I’d be fine with that. Again, I don’t necessarily think that alternate methods would be better — I do think that because of the peculiarity of the Mormon cultural climate, it could be fun and fruitful to try.
Of course, I don’t want do the experimenting myself — just blog about it when it happens. ;-)
———
Darlene:
That’s fantastic. Too much sweat. You know, all the great writers have some images/words/scenes/situations they come back too again and again. No reason why sweat can’t be yours.
And I can fully agree with this:
“Regardless, I have no doubt that I, as an artist, would not benefit from criticism that didn’t seem informed by both an awareness of the genre in which I was writing and also a basic respect for the desires of my heart (also, it is helpful if my critic seems to recognize some sort of potential in me).”
I think also that too much criticism is focused on reviews of particular work — I can see why artists would want to avoid that. But I’d like to see more artists engage with criticism (what little of that there is) that focuses on trends and speculations, our history and future.
I wonder, for example, how many short story writers out there have read Eugene England’s excellent Danger on the Left! Danger on the Right! and tried to incorporate his observations into their work.
4.17.07 | 9:36 pm | comment permalink |
“I think the problem as I see it is that much of Mormon literature (the little of it that there is) seems to be produced under the more Creative Writing department model that predominates in American literature today [with its emphasis on workshopping and confined models of artistic expression and production]. I don’t dispute that that model hasn’t and can’t produce great literature. But I do think that Mormon literature in particular should try to experiment.”
I understand that the creative writing department model can go terribly wrong. I saw this down at the U of A many years ago (hope it’s changed). The head of the creative writing department told me that because I was in the “literature” department I couldn’t possibly be serious about my poetry, etc., etc. Back then, the creative writing department was answerable to no one for the quality of writers it turned out. Coming out of BYU, where I had received both creative and critical
training (part of it in the philosophy dept.), this attitude shocked me.
“For example, to my knowledge we haven’t seen any ’strong’ editor-produced work, where an editor [I recognize that many critics and writers think this method is horrific, but perhaps its worth a shot — esp. in film] takes work by a talented but unfocused author and gives it shape.”
This is certainly an effective model. What I hear at writer’s workshops (from editors and agents) these days is that the old editor-writer relationship has shifted to the agent-writer relationship. This is because many editors nowadays expect material to be nearly print-ready when they accept it for publication. I don’t know how this works for film.
William, what Molit publishers employ the classic editor-writer relationship model?
“And perhaps there are other methods that could be fruitful. To me the biggest problem with Mormon fiction — both genre and literary fiction — is that what we produce seems to be a decade or so behind what the broader culture is producing. Maybe we’re stuck with that. And if so, I’d be fine with that. Again, I don’t necessarily think that alternate methods would be better — I do think that because of the peculiarity of the Mormon cultural climate, it could be fun and fruitful to try.”
Not that I’m an expert on the subject, but I absolutely agree with this. In literary nature writing we’re even farther behind. I wonder if our literary lagging behind might be related not so much to critical training but to how we do not always play well with the other kids.
4.17.07 | 9:43 pm | comment permalink |
Darlene,
I’m sorry to have missed your reading, but I found that (other) session absolutely irresistable.
And if both your uninformed relative and a trusted, informed critic tell you there’s too much sweat in your story, what would that mean? Would these two opposing sources somehow cancel each other out? :)
The trust issue came up in different and fascinating ways in that session on purifying critics. I really hope Shawn or Mahonri will write about that.
4.17.07 | 10:56 pm | comment permalink |
Speaking as one who lives outside Utah, I want to throw out a quick thanks to you guys for covering the conference. Reading these posts always makes me think a little harder about what I’m writing!
4.17.07 | 11:18 pm | comment permalink |
Our pleasure, Laura. Thanks for dropping by and reading what we write!
4.18.07 | 12:20 am | comment permalink |
I can’t help but feel that Packard’s approach springs (in some degree) from a distrust of sorts. Whether it’s a lack of trust in the creative process in general or in the artists themselves, I can’t really say. But one thing is for sure: if your goal is to obstruct open communication with an artist, start by overtly second guessing his/her motives. And then be sure to convey any doubts you may have in the value of creative autonomy.
Jorgensen’s approach (as it is described above) resonates with me. I found myself saying, yep; u-huh; that’s right; etc., as I read along. Invariably, the best criticism I receive comes from artists who care about me personally and about what I’m trying to do with my work (which is in music).
4.18.07 | 12:22 am | comment permalink |
…and I mean *deep* criticism — not just nice fluffy stuff.
4.18.07 | 8:59 pm | comment permalink |
Thanks for writing this up, Patricia. What a fascinating discussion.
There were a lot of great points made; I agree on many points with Packard. This comment by Jorgensen is a bit troublesome:
““The idea of a work in progress being criticized is a weird process,” Jorgensen said. A work in progress needs help, not criticism: “I like what you’re trying to do. Let me help you with it.” Generosity is important to this process.”
The meaning of the word “criticism” when referring to criticism in the arts is unrelated to the colloquial use of the word with its connotations of scorn or disapproval. A “critic” is not by definition a nay-sayer.
Maybe the confusion in terminology here (and the accompanied confusion about the “office of formal critic”) has something to do with my ignorance of much of literary criticism. In the visual arts world, critics are real people who work for journals and the like and who talk about art as a profession. They don’t disparage art – they criticize it, which includes promotion of the artists they agree with.
I’m glad this issue was brought up.
4.19.07 | 12:29 pm | comment permalink |
Anneke: Again, I’m pretty sure Bruce Jorgensen understands the distinction between the types of criticism you’ve mentioned and acknowledges the need for good criticism.