"Get a Life" by Donald Brook: A Review

This review was originally published in Artlink Magazine Vol.34 No.3 here.

Get a life is a deceptive book, not because its author seeks to misdirect the reader, nor because he is in any way naive about the implications of his theories, but because the ideas it contains are so entertainingly and unthreateningly presented, yet on close examination they turn out to have teeth — sharp ones.

This new ebook by the British-Australian art theorist Donald Brook is a compendium of papers, articles and biographical recollections that trace Brook's developing thought from the mid 1960's to the present day. The various "perls" (a pun on the computer programming language), as he calls them, are strung together with chronological recollections of Brook's many involvements with the Australian artworld during the same period as well as several descriptions of other formative, informative, extraordinary, exasperating and sometimes poignant episodes and encounters.

For the last 50 years Brook has been weaving together various closely interrelated strands of conceptual analysis leading to the formulation of a body of theories with significant implications for our understanding of art, culture and perception — issues that are as relevant today as they ever were. Whether a modest ebook is the most appropriate or impactful means of disseminating these ideas remains to be seen, but it would be a mistake to conclude that the contents of this offering apply merely to the production, theory and consumption or artworks or even to the wider machinations of the artworld. Even a brief scan should be sufficient to persuade even the most skeptical reader that this book is packed with ideas, thought-provoking challenges to orthodoxy and even several powerful conceptual tools that could easily keep a diligent theorist employed for a very long time indeed.

Such glowing remarks beg a glaring question: if Brook has been a prominent and widely published member of the Australian artworld and his ‘perls’ have frequently been dispersed in international waters then why is he almost completely unknown outside Australia? It is tempting to jump to some scathing conclusions here about the narrow focus of the Anglo American outlook but whilst there is probably some truth in this conclusion I suspect that the factors involved are more complex than such a superficial response would suggest. 

The period of Brook's principal activity coincides with one in which Continental philosophy in general and Post-Structuralism in particular have held considerable attractions for many artists and art theorists. The clear reverberations of this cultural trend can still be discerned amongst much contemporary art and art criticism, yet throughout this period Brook's allegiances have remained firmly within the Analytic tradition, a tradition known more for its asceticism and restraint than its ability to enthral, entertain or even to mystify. The artworld isn't exactly renowned for its preoccupation with clarity, conceptual precision and disciplined enquiry and this presents a difficulty for any theorist aligned more with Wittgenstein, Ryle and J. L. Austin than Barthes, Derrida or Merleau-Ponty. This is not to say that Brook's writings are arid tracts with humble ambitions, quite the reverse, but what it does mean is that his rejection of much that is held sacred both within the Continental as well as the Analytic traditions of philosophy leaves him with few allies in the philosophy camp. Little wonder then that he continues to describe himself an artist and art theorist. But this also inevitably puts him into conflict with advocates of the transcendence of art or its intrinsic alterity and ineffability. Brook's claims are at once more substantial and more insightful and by diligent means he takes the careful reader on a journey that leads to some extraordinarily revealing realisations about the intimate and inextricable relations between representation, perception art and culture.

One of the most important additions to the toolkit of any bona fide pearl hunter is a implement for levering apart the two halves of shells that stubbornly conceal their contents. Over the years Brook has developed an uncanny knack of driving a critical wedge between what are commonly regarded as indivisible entities, of making distinctions where only ambiguity reigns. In the 1960’s he began to focus his attention on a curious division commonly encountered in commentaries on sculpture. In the paper "Perception and the Critical Appraisal of Sculpture" (1969) Brook describes how commentators often adopt one of two distinct forms of descriptive strategy that he defines as "Object Accounts" or "Picture Accounts". It turns out that these two approaches are the linguistic face of two radically different procedures of nonverbal representation, procedures that inform our everyday speech to a significant degree. Moreover, Picture Accounts are the result of cultural innovations of the kind exemplified by the 15h Century discovery of perspective and—incidentally—are centrally implicated in the perplexities of many optical illusions. Many such techniques that we now take for granted were completely unknown in ancient times, for example the knack of using blue pigments to depict aerial perspective. Only in recent years has it been confirmed — thus corroborating Brook's thesis — that colour perception for example is significantly informed by the cultural emergence of skills and materials capable of enhancing our genetically inherited capacities.

The emphasis on cultural innovation in Brook's thought is crucial and leads to several other important insights, perhaps the most prominent of which is a theory of what art actually is: an old canard perhaps but one that finds new life under Brook's discriminating lens. Brook argues that the artworld has a vested interest in claiming that art is a unique commodity that inheres only in works of art, whereas art is in fact the emergence of previously unexpected skills of human ingenuity that, once discovered, can subsequently be repeated and refined. Computer games, perspective, nicotine patches, photographs, particle accelerators, sculptures and even new forms of crime are all products of art. Whether these artefacts of art will be accepted by the artworld as works of art is, of course, a question that actually has very little to do with art. Furthermore, what follows, as Brook is quick to clarify, is the realisation that there is no such thing as art history, only the "construction of a rag-bag of stories about the ways in which certain loosely related cultural kinds have emerged, have changed, and have eventually been superseded."

Inevitably the arguments are more subtly nuanced than a brief summary can possibly elucidate but it should be apparent that this ebook has a lot to offer anyone interested in getting to grips with issues that have stymied philosophers and art theorists for centuries. Theories of all kinds should be measured by their ability to enable insights and to explain puzzles that have so far eluded our best efforts. Ideally they should also be clear and the examples they provide, vividly accessible. Get a Life succeeds admirably in doing so and into the bargain we also get several other gems including one of the most ludicrously funny yet shockingly chilling recollections ever to have graced the pages of a book of theory. "Depravity in Wharfdale" is a masterpiece of storytelling that will leave you breathless with its laughable grotesquery.

Brook can certainly spin a yarn, but even though Get a Life is frequently entertaining his intention is clearly not to regale us nor to showcase his linguistic or critical prowess but to provide an opportunity for close scrutiny of radical ideas that are in genuine need of serious critical attention. Inevitably there are times where the measured discussion betrays a hint of irritation at the paucity of critical reception of his work but it is clear that Brook has more pressing repercussions to explore than to become embroiled in petty bickering or bitterness.

Get a Life is an immensely intelligent book. It is witty but never cocky, eloquent but never showy, insightful but never boastful, and challenging but never laboured. Of course, you will want to draw your own conclusions. I can only recommend that you get a copy (here).

Reading, Fast and Slow

A week or so ago I finished reading “The Craftsman” by Richard Sennett. There is much in it to recommend it but I can’t say that I enjoyed the read, which is to say that I found it disappointing. Admittedly I’d had very high hopes of what I would find in its pages and this is perhaps not the most favourable attitude to bring to bear upon any new experience, even if it comes highly recommended. Of course I’m sympathetic with the underlying premise and it is undoubtedly well researched and a rich source of ideas and references but ultimately I came away feeling little better armed with insights and arguments for the championship of craftsmanship than I’d felt when I picked it up.

No doubt, with greater patience, I could go back and furnish myself with a fuller repertoire of critical tools and examples, but this leads me to wonder what it was about the initial reading that couldn’t provide such things in the first place? Did I read it too quickly perhaps? (I’m a plodding reader at the best of times so I doubt it), is it, dare I say, a fault in craftsmanship on Sennett’s part or should the responsibility fall more squarely upon my own shoulders, on my readercraft?

Rather than rushing at an answer, perhaps it would be more interesting to take a brief detour via a discussion raised by Sennett in relation to IQ tests. Sennett points out that IQ tests are timed and he cautions that there are occasions when questions demand more consideration than a cursory, albeit correct, answer:

“In the spirit of craftsmanship you want to dwell on this problem, making it more specific, puzzling over it – but time is running out. You have to answer as many questions as you can to raise your score, so you guess and go on. Intuitive leaps that open up a problem are impossible to test using multiple-choice questions.”

And:

“Invidious comparison of speed has distorted the measure of quality.”

Yesterday I chanced upon an almost opposing sentiment on the part of Friedrich Nietzsche:

 “’The ‘Plodders.’ –Persons slow of apprehension think that slowness forms part of knowledge.”

Sure, slowness would seem an unlikely contender as a component of knowledge, but conceived instead as ponderousness the complexion of the statement changes considerably, and whilst ponderousness may not be a part of knowledge either, few would disagree that it forms a venerable route towards it. Moreover, if slowness isn’t part of knowledge, logically speaking nor is rapidity (as Sennett wisely cautions). Ponderousness isn’t exactly slow but it demands whatever time is required. It will not be profitably hurried.

So, it’s not really a case of how fast or how slow you apprehend something that matters but how deeply you consider it, how thoroughly you weigh (ponder) what it has to offer. And this leads me back to The Craftsman.

To have gained the maximum from the book I would indeed have to had read it more closely, to have made more notes and perhaps even to have written my own summaries of the most salient passages. But it’s not a one way street, there is still a requirement that the craft of the reader is met by the craft of the author. If there is too great a disparity between these two forms of craftsmanship - or the purposes that underlie them - then the work of reading will never be as fully satisfying, pleasurable or edifying as might otherwise be the case.

"Admittedly, to practice reading as an art … requires one thing above all, and it is something which today more than ever has been thoroughly unlearnt … it is something for which one must be practically bovine and certainly not a ‘modern man’: that is to say, rumination…" — Friedrich Nietzsche, "On the Genealogy of Morals."

Beware of the Likeminded

A lengthy (you’ve been warned) critique of Susan Cain’s advocacy of introversion.

I've been reading several articles in the last few days by Susan Cain (thanks to James Atherton’s initial link). Cain argues that we have become obsessed by Groupthink in the West and that the increasing emphasis on teamwork is drowning the vital insights and contributions of the introverted. For Cain an introvert is someone who ”prefers quiet, minimally stimulating environments.” She mobilises a wide range of references in order to champion the value and power of introversion and in the process she has drummed up a substantial following of likeminded followers. Indeed on her own site she proclaims:

“I’m excited to report that the article is now the #1 most e-mailed piece in the entire Sunday Times. The Quiet Revolution has begun.”

As an introvert myself I was initially very intrigued by her message. She is right, of course, to celebrate a human quality that deserves to be credited with greater understanding as well as more numerous opportunities for expression. I have no gripe with this particular aspect of Cain's work but on the other hand I think that she has adopted what turns out to be a flawed approach which, for me, frequently undermines her basic premise and often leaves me infuriated by the numerous generalisations and self-congratulatory tone of her discussion.

The principal mistake repeatedly made by Cain is to lump all introverts together as if they shared the self same traits in equal measure and of identical origin and composition. There is a great diversity of people in the world with infinitely divisible gradations and compositions of personal characteristics and to simplify this into two opposing camps is not only patently nonsense but a divisive falsehood. No doubt her intention is to enlist the sympathies of her introverted readers and to reassure them that they are not alone (note the irony) but rather surrounded by numerous exemplary contemporary and historical examples. It’s a positive image and no doubt to some degree warranted. However, by ignoring the diversity amongst this - at best - heterogeneous group she also creates an entirely false opposition: a them-and-us situation where we, the introverted meek are the poor unsung heroes and geniuses of history whereas all extroverts are, by implication, a bunch of impulsive, self centered, insensitive and accident prone upstagers.

I know many people with introverted characters and I teach a great many introverts too. I also know and work with a good many extroverts. But for me the problems begin as soon as one starts to think about people in these ways. Apart from the more obvious extremes, the overlap between extroversion and introversion is incredibly broad. It’s not even a spectrum in the traditional sense since there are many people who exhibit both characteristics in different situations or even within the same situation. I myself actually take a certain amount of pleasure in speaking to large groups about things that I have thought about deeply but when it comes to introducing myself to strangers, for example at breaks during a conference or making small talk, I’d rather hide my head in a book – and often do.

Why might Cain’s message be so popular? Has she really identified a forgotten and neglected characteristic that all introverts have simply been too shy or too brow-beaten to recognise and promote? Has she given voice to the long pent up feelings of a silent minority or, on the contrary, is she simply telling us what we want to hear?

Fortune tellers and psychics commonly use a technique known as Cold Reading to convince people that the ‘reader’ is aware of significant personal details about the beliefs and character of an individual. Such readings often incorporate what have come to be known as Barnum statements (after the famous showman P.T. Barnum). Barnum statements are carefully crafted statements that large numbers of people commonly take to be meaningful descriptions of their own character - such statements as:

• You are an independent thinker. You like to check out claims for yourself before you believe what someone tells you.
• You have a creative streak that you aren't always able to indulge in.
• You set huge, unattainable goals for yourself that you're rarely able to achieve.
• You have a fear of rejection.
• You feel guilty about and worry about things that are completely out of your control.
• You are often too critical of yourself.
• You are a daydreamer and a romantic. Often times you find yourself tuning out of conversations because your mind is somewhere else.
• You are highly selective of your friends and very picky about who you have relationships with, although you have a wide range of acquaintances.
• You are not deceptive -- you're very honest and trustworthy.

Whilst Cain doesn’t exactly use Barnum statements, if you’ve read anything by her you will probably recognize the similarities with the above. The point I’m trying to make here is that she’s calling on her readers to identify with the collective entity of introversion and in the process she risks generating the very thing that she criticises: her very own form of groupthink.

Cain is also critical of drugs like Zoloft that are prescribed for Social Anxiety Disorder since she believes these suppress traits that should be celebrated. But has she never heard of “Liquid Courage”? People have been using alcohol to alleviate social anxiety for as long as alcohol has been available. If it weren’t for the unpleasant side effects of alcohol then I’d be quite happy to down a couple of drinks during a conference to break a little ice. And if a legal drug with no side effects became available to temporarily reduce social anxiety then I’d be very keen to try it in some situations so I can certainly imagine why something like Zoloft could be a real help to some people. Surely one of the principal attractions of many ‘recreational’ drugs is the extent to which they to reduce social anxiety.

In June of last year Cain wrote an article for the New York Times Sunday Review (to which she refers in the above quote) entitled “Shyness: Evolutionary Tactic?” (which was later reposted on RichardDawkins.net - interestingly). Unfortunately the article makes barely a mention of evolution or the evolutionary role of introversion or shyness other than to describe the work of David Sloan Wilson, an evolutionary biologist whose studies of pumpkinseed sunfish led him to distinguish between what he described as “rovers” and “sitters”. Cain does acknowledge Wilson’s warning that: “’There is no single best ... [animal] personality, but rather a diversity of personalities maintained by natural selection.’” but she seems to have almost entirely missed the point: it is diversity (not being introverted) that increases the likelihood of survival.

This fundamental issue of diversity is also a major theme in the work of Professor Scott E. Page whose research flatly contradicts many claims made by Cain. In his book, “The Difference: How the Power of Diversity Creates Better Groups, Firms, Schools and Societies” Page suggests that group creativity is borne precisely of diversity and that:

"Breakthroughs in science increasingly come from teams of bright, diverse people. That’s why interdisciplinary work is the biggest trend in scientific research."

and

“'How can we all be more productive together?' The answer, he suggests, is in messy, creative organizations and environments with individuals from vastly different backgrounds and life experiences."

I would contend that groupthink has very little to do with the proportions of extroverts to introverts in any group but rather the tendency of groups to form from likeminded people and to reinforce or amplify their initial inclinations, as indicated in this recent article by David G. Myers. Diversity and the dissent that diversity engenders in particular is therefore a vital component of successful group decision making. Tim Harford makes a very similar point in the following short video:

Amongst the articles I’ve read by Susan Cain I’ve twice come across the following quote from Adrian Furnham which is clearly intended to pour cold water on any notion that groups might be effective or creative:

"The organizational psychologist Adrian Furnham puts it pretty bluntly: The “evidence from science suggests that business people must be insane to use brainstorming groups. If you have talented and motivated people, they should be encouraged to work alone when creativity or efficiency is the highest priority.”

I’m struggling to think of a single situation when creativity or efficiency wouldn’t be a priority but, that aside, it seems like the “evidence from science”, or at least the evidence from the ‘scientist’ selected by Susan Cain, would seem to be contradicted by a good deal of current research.

There are times of course when Cain simply cannot deny the weight of evidence to which we all have access:

“The one important exception to this dismal record is electronic brainstorming, where large groups outperform individuals; and the larger the group the better. The protection of the screen mitigates many problems of group work. This is why the Internet has yielded such wondrous collective creations.”

She makes a good point here since it is true that the internet provides abundant opportunities for unhurried considered reflection and debate whilst avoiding almost all of the social awkwardness that creates such anxiety for many people.

So, what are Cain’s conclusions? From what I can gather these are straightforward: we’re social beings but there are times when we also desire (and deserve) solitude. Teamwork can be ok but we also need opportunities to be alone with our own thoughts and to bring these back to the group once they have crystallized more fully. Introverts sometimes need to strive to avoid being overcome by their reclusive inclinations just as extroverts should perhaps temper their zeal in certain circumstances to allow other voices to come through. Introverts can sometimes make great leaders. We should beware of medicating ourselves into a homogenous mass. We need to redress the balance between teamwork and solitude and provide opportunities in the workplace that cater for these different needs.

I can’t say that I disagree with any of this – only I’m reminded of something A. C. Grayling wrote:

"One big problem that infects the social scientific, and especially neuroscientific, study of diffuse and vaguely specified phenomena such as wisdom and happiness is that much of what happens in such study results in expensive and polysyllabic confirmation of what common sense and received wisdom long ago knew."

Obliquity

Over the winter break I spotted a copy of John Kay’s 2010 book “Obliquity” on the shelf in Waterstones. Intrigued I bought a copy and found it well argued and insightful. Having read few damning reviews on Amazon I decided to write my own oblique (ie: 1*) response:

If you’re like me then you’re reading the one-star reviews of this book to compare them with the five-star reviews to gauge the most convincing arguments. In that case let me try to explain why, in this singular instance, a one-star rating - in an entirely oblique way - is the only sensible rating to give John Kay’s excellent - yes Excellent - book.

When reading reviews there quickly comes a point when there is little necessity in reading yet another rave review - just buy the book. On the other hand, a negative criticism might actually reveal an underlying flaw that jars with your own values and perceptions and would thus make reading the book a pointless and wasteful exercise. According to Kay’s insight, this very strategy, of skipping directly to the criticisms, can be considered a prime example of obliquity ie: of taking a lateral route to make an evaluation about a potential expenditure of energy, money or time.

Despite whatever criticisms might be thrown at this book, the overall argument is a vitally important one: high-level objectives are difficult to attain because they invariably involve extreme complexity and uncertainty and it makes little sense therefore to attempt to achieve them by direct means. Kay provides a variety of examples from a range of fields to explore this thesis and he analyses the point from a number of differing perspectives and gives nuanced arguments to back his claims.

If you already agree with the underlying thesis and you’re not interested in any of the explanations then clearly this book is not for you. If however, you are intrigued about how the pursuit of high-level objectives can go so disastrously wrong and why a more modest focus on intermediate goals is often so much more effective then this book might well be worth a few of your pennies.

Some highlights (not in the Amazon review):

“I think that obliquity is a process of experiments and discovery. Successes and failures and the expansion of knowledge lead to reassessment of our objectives and goals and the actions that result.”

“We not only lack fixed criteria of what constitutes greatness in poetry: to have such criteria would be to miss a vital component of poetic greatness. When we describe a great poem, we use words like freshness and originality. Great poets do not necessarily conform to the accepted concepts of what constitutes great poetry. They not only break the rules, they redefine them. Such obliquity is a key part of what makes poets great.”

“We don’t reach decisions about how to behave, what should go into a poem, what to teach or how to run a company as a result of performing some direct process that begins with abstract speculation about these large and general questions. We reach these decisions through an oblique process of negotiation, adaptation and compromise. As a result, these decisions will be resolved in different ways by different people at different times.”

“The human mind is programmed to look for patterns and to seek causes, and this approach is often valuable. But that programming leads us to see patterns in random events and to attribute intentions where none existed. We believe we observe directness in obliquity.”

“Surely you must do better if you intend to achieve something than if you don’t? The metaphor of the Blind watchmaker illustrates that the answer to that question is often no. If the environment is uncertain, imperfectly understood and is constantly changing, the product of a process of adaptation and evolution may be better adapted to the environment than the product of conscious design.”

“We devote hours of staff evaluations, quality assessments and risk reporting, but these hours are not really devoted to evaluation, assessment or reporting: they are spent ticking boxes, and our personal judgements, our assessments and our risk management are based on other criteria.”

“Mostly, we actually solve problems obliquely. Our approaches are iterative and adaptive. We make our choices from a limited range of options. Our knowledge of the relevant information, and of what information is relevant, is imperfect. Different people will form different judgements in the same situation, not just because they have different objectives are because they observe different opinions, select different information and assess the information differently: and even with hindsight it will often not be possible to say who was right and who was wrong. In a necessarily uncertain world, a good decision doesn’t necessarily lead to a good outcome, and a good outcome doesn’t necessarily imply a good decision or a capable decision maker. The notion of the best solution may itself be misconceived.” [my emphasis]

“Klein’s paramedics and firefighters became competent by learning the rules and became good through practice.”

“When faced with the task that daunts you, a project that you find difficult, begin by doing something.”

“Obliqity doesn’t mean that we should stop thinking about objectives, fail to examine options or omit to seek information and understand as best we can in the complex systems that we deal with. Far from it: we should start and continue. The alternative to a ‘rational’ process of defining objectives, evaluating options, modelling consequences is an approach that is oblique, but truly based on reason and evidence.”

“To call these processes “intuition” is to miss the central point, which is that what we are describing as “intuition” is based on evidence and evaluation and is repeatedly successful when practised by Beckham, an experienced art curator or Picasso – and not successful at the feet, or in the hands or minds, of amateur footballers, casual gallery visitors all weekend artists. The more we practice the better our judgements.”

The Power and the Beauty

Folded card by Laurie and Thomas A Clark, 2010, 7,4 x 5,3 cm

Yesterday Peter Foolen posted the above image on Facebook. I should say straightaway that I admire Tom and Laurie Clark’s work a great deal, not least because it's both intellectually engaging as well as beautiful. However, this particular work urged me to reconsider my attitude towards beauty and in the process to re-read Susan Sontag’s essay “An argument about beauty”:

“What is beautiful reminds us of nature as such–of what lies beyond the human and the made–and thereby stimulates and deepens our sense of the sheer spread and fullness of reality, inanimate as well as pulsing, that surrounds us all. […] Imagine saying, ‘That sunset is interesting.’”

As it turns out, Sontag’s sentiments agree very closely with the Clark’s. In both cases we are presented with formidable arguments which are not in the least easy to contest, indeed they are so articulately and persuasively rendered that it’s extremely tempting simply to chime in and agree (as I did on Facebook). However, at the risk of casting myself as a "new Puritan", I’d like to consider these arguments a little more closely – not from a position of “suspicion” (mistrust) but of skepticism (doubt).

In both cases we’re presented with well articulated, highly crafted and well informed arguments. They could easily be, and probably wish to be, described as beautiful. And here perhaps is the first indication that something is amiss. Not only are these arguments beautifully rendered, they are also authoritative: they announce themselves as skillfully considered powerful ideas despite, in one case, the very unassuming form of a folded card. But this power is also, to some extent, based upon the way these arguments force anyone who opposes them to adopt the mantle of either “Puritanism” or in the case of Sontag: “ludicrousness”. Arguments from positions of certainty often do this: they cast opposing views as faulty and seek to denigrate those who hold them. Perhaps this is the crucial difference between a discussion and an argument: not so much the passions involved but the way each party seeks to characterize the other.

One thing which is only touched upon in Sontag’s essay, but which is very prominently suggested in the Clark’s card is the contrast between culture and nature: between words and feelings, images and flowers, representation and reality. Sontag writes:

“The beauty of art is better, ‘higher,’ according to Hegel, than the beauty of nature because it is made by human beings and is the work of the spirit. But the discerning of beauty in nature is also the result of traditions of consciousness, and of culture–in Hegel’s language, of spirit.”

Whilst we might take pleasure in the sheer beauty of a sunset – and sincerely describe it as such - when it comes to the products of culture, we are dealing with something else entirely. Humans are makers of meaning, whereas, as Sontag reminds us in another essay, nature just is:

“The truth is always something that is told, not something that is known. If there were no speaking or writing, there would be no truth about anything. There would only be what is.”

If it’s beauty alone that we seek then why the need for culture at all? However, if we are to ‘read’ culture - or nature for that matter - thereby perceiving them through the lens of culture, then it would seem to make sense not to be too passive in the assumptions and interpretations we make of what is presented to us. Beauty, flow, grace, unity, balance etc are all pleasurable experiences, but you don’t have to be ‘suspicious’ to realise that such things can be used – whether unintentionally or by design - to conceal, to persuade, to distract or to manipulate. When we’re presented with neat packages of beautifully articulated or rendered information there’s a tendency to accept the flow, to take pleasure in the grace, to appreciate the unity and to enjoy the balance. Perhaps a little healthy skepticism, far from diluting our experience, would help to temper such unquestioning tendencies.

A suspicious puritan is probably the last person you’d want to meet. A skeptical puritan, on the other hand, at least has the vague prospect of recognising the extent to which they've been deluded.

The Prejudice of Grading Painting Students

Image Credit: Calum MacLeod

Thanks to James A for sharing a link to an article entitled: “The Justice of Grading Painting Students”.

With barely concealed smugness, Professor Laurie Fendrich discusses how she works with and grades "beginning painting students". Any teacher who uses terms like “natural talent” without the slightest hesitation has made a fundamental mistake, in my view, by assuming that some students have it and some just don’t. You don’t have to know anything about the Pygmalion Effect to realise just how self-fulfilling such prejudices can be.

Whilst frequently using the possessive form (“my students”, “my course” etc), Fendrich begins by describing how she found it difficult to grade her students this semester. However, as the article progresses, it becomes quite clear that she doesn’t find it particularly difficult at all, and certainly not because she perceives any problems with the nature of grades.

“Yet the moment of a final grade in a course is not a small matter. It generates anxiety for students as well as for professors who take the act of judgment seriously. Rough and imperfect though they are, grades function as a form of justice, the meting out of which is a solemn occasion.”

What? ...“grades function as a form of justice.” Does she think she's some kind of high priestess who meets out judgement to praise and punish her minions?

“After all the friendliness and soft competition in a studio course, students are often shocked when it’s time for judgment. […] The answer is that the time has come. A final grade must be given. A judgment must be made. This, dear students, is life.”

That last patronising sentence had me instantly reaching for the comments box:

That’s the voice of unexamined orthodoxy speaking. Yes this is “life” as you call it (or “the real world” as others think of it too). However, the point that needs to be scrutinised very carefully is whether it could be different, or even better? The creation of art is very much an expression of this belief (faith even) in the power of creativity to transform experience. If we are simply to accept the status quo, as your article seems to suggest your students should, then what point is there to make art at all?

Rewards and punishments (of which grades are a common form) of all kinds are corrosive to creativity. This has been shown in numerous studies conducted across cultures and generations (lookup intrinsic motivation or check out the research and writings of Alfie Kohn).

Your article says more about your own acceptance of grades as unavoidable (“a final grade must be given”) than it does about your students naïveté in the face of life. They, on the contrary, seem to understand, if only intuitively, that there’s some hypocrisy at work in the way they’re being treated. You’d do well to examine your “dear” students’ shock a little more carefully. Perhaps then you’d realise that it is not “life” they are dealing with so much as 'an institution' and there is nothing inevitable about that, only what we unquestioningly accept as being so.

Critical Tact or Punitive Feedback?

Jenny Holzer, Abuse of Power comes as no Surprise with Ladypink, 1983

“The real question as to whether someone is a good or bad educator is simply this: Has this person developed a sense of tact?” –Johann Friedrich Herbart, 1802

Most teachers will be familiar with the situation where a student complains about feedback they've had from another member of staff. Most of these complaints concern confusing or de-motivating criticisms which have been made about their work. I don't think we need to take such expressions of dissatisfaction as an excuse to go on a witch hunt, but I do think it’s important not to dismiss them. It is only when we fully appreciate the power of critical feedback, not just to motivate, but to confound, confuse, de-motivate and on occasion to entirely alienate, that we are likely to realise just how important it is that teachers use critical feedback intelligently and tactfully.

Many teachers, and even some students for that matter, believe that harsh criticism is sometimes justified, but why might this be the case? Whilst students might benefit, to some extent, from becoming a little more thick-skinned regarding criticism, since in the ‘professional’ field art critics are frequently far more scathing than art teachers, it might nonetheless be worth taking a moment to consider exactly how people become thick-skinned in the first place. Practically all teachers and students who advocate harsh criticism are confident individuals already, who feel able to absorb criticism and thereby profit by it. However, there remain a substantial number of students who are a good deal less confident and, not surprisingly, these students also tend to be a good deal less vocal about valuing harsh criticism. The truth is, you don’t make a more confident individual by undermining their confidence. Confidence has to come first, then you can think about being more firm with criticism. This is where tact comes in. Tact is the ability to accurately judge a student’s level of confidence and pitch criticism appropriately so that the level of challenge becomes neither stressful nor boring and confidence is promoted rather than crushed.

“A tactful person is able as it were to read the inner life of the other person.” -Max van Manen

Art teachers can be an opinionated bunch at the best of times and for similar reasons we also tend to be very passionate about what we believe. But these strongly held beliefs also mean that we’re inclined to hold powerful allegiances to our chosen media, genres, styles and approaches to art making and are equally dismissive or even vehemently opposed to media, genres, styles and approaches which we see as outmoded, superficial, mannered, clumsy etc. However, any criticism that derives from such beliefs, as inspiring and persuasive as it may be, can never be anything more than partial at best, and at worst simply perpetuates the values of the teacher.

“The true teacher defends his pupils against his own personal influence.”
-Amos Bronson Alcott

There are numerous circumstances in the teaching of fine art that call for critical feedback. Sometimes students produce work which entirely misses the point of a project or is founded upon naive conceptions due to lack of awareness or critical engagement. Work may be conceptually or technically flawed, it may be ethically questionable, vague or formally overwrought. At times, it appears as though a particular student may have simply chosen the wrong course of study and lacks the awareness, confidence or resources to remedy the situation on their own. And then there are students who are disengaged, lazy or offhand with work and who attempt to cut corners or, worse still, to pull the wool over their teacher's eyes by evading classes and/or trying to verbally embellish their work etc.

All of the above are situations where students might be seen to be falling short in one respect or another but it’s crucial for teachers to be able to clearly distinguish between such issues of engagement, perceive their underlying causes and, as much as possible, rise above personal preferences in responding to them. If someone is genuinely trying to manipulate a situation, then it’s pretty clear that they should be made aware that this is an unacceptable way of proceeding. However, if a student is simply naive, mistaken, insecure or misinformed, but is nonetheless engaging in good faith, then it is the teacher’s duty to constructively support them, encourage their engagement and to invite critical discussion about what is not working, rather than assuming a wall of unquestionable authority and backing this up through kinds of criticism that are practically indistinguishable from punitive feedback.

"In this direction he must, if he is an educator, be able to judge what attitudes are actually conducive to continued growth and what are detrimental. He must, in addition, have that sympathetic understanding of individuals as individuals which gives him an idea of what is actually going on in the minds of those who are learning.” -John Dewey

The Perishability of Language and the Self

“But there is one other crucial thing to be mentioned. The tumour that will destroy me is in the proximity of my speech area. But I am also a word-earner. I have been doing this all my life as an adult. And I still survive as a language-user – speaking, listening, reading, writing – over the past two years. Or, rather, I survive in fluctuating ways.”

I’ve been reading and re-reading Tom Lubbock’s haunting and bewildering account of his gradual loss of language to a glioblastoma multiforme tumour, published 10 days ago in the Observer and subsequently on the Guardian website.

“It's not possible to get any distance from my project: being alive. Objectively, from the outside you might say, my life is terrible, unbelievable. And it's true, I hate this. I hate the way I am at the moment. But there is no objective view, I am here, in it, and there is nothing else, and this fact brings with it many things that make it of course easier. And beyond that there are many other things to think about.”

I’ve met Tom on a few occasions, being somewhat distantly a friend of friends. Even so, we’ve barely exchanged words, although we once had a brief discussion when a friend brought Tom by my studio and he showed a genuine interest in a couple of postcards I was working on. He even took some away with him.

Tom was a speaker at a conference at the Gallery of Modern Art in Edinburgh some years ago along with Nathan Coley (“The most boring artist in Britain”) and Tom Eccles. The theme of the conference was the Monument in Public Art, and he spoke memorably of the distinction between monuments which are built to endure and monuments that he described as “perishable”, which he suggested offered a more fitting way to mark the passing of the people and things which claim our affections. In order to move on with our lives we often need to forget. Our memories are porous and our lives are likewise transient, so it makes little sense to ossify memories that might distract us from new and equally important experiences and encounters. In many ways the richness of life is this very exchange between memory and forgetting. But, of course, this is the preserve of us for whom memory is a resource which is relatively easily accessed and utilized. As Tom’s article shows, our commonsense notions of the unity of memory and recall are far from providing us with a revealing picture of how memory actually works.

During one of the breaks in the conference, as people were busy networking away, I noticed that Tom had disappeared. He returned just as the presentations were due to recommence and when one of the organizers politely enquired where he’d been, he replied: “For a walk around the grounds. I don’t really feel comfortable in these situations.” This characteristic combination of humility and an unflinching willingness to explain his alternative perspective has always marked Tom out as an exceptional thinker and it’s all the more disturbing to literally see the signs of this ability ebbing away on the page before you.

The Tact of Leaders (an essay on criticism and how to take it)

How do leaders and people in authority gain an accurate picture of what’s going on around them and how sensitive (in both senses of the word) should they be towards criticism?

There’s a novel by Gabriel Garcia Marquez entitled “the Autumn of the Patriarch” in which a decrepit and beleaguered but ruthless dictator finds himself without any close confidants to whom he can turn for a truthful description of what’s happening in his country and how he’s perceived as its leader. He finally resorts to visiting the servants’ latrines in the basement of the building in order to read the descriptions and see the caricatures of himself scrawled in graffiti across the walls. Thus it’s possible for him to gain some kind of perspective by juxtaposing these representations with the ridiculously fanciful distortions presented to him by his aides who are terrified of uttering the slightest word of negativity or criticism to him.

It has always been the case that leaders have intimidated their subordinates but it has also been the case, on occasion and sometimes for generations, that certain cultures have developed in which criticism is positively encouraged. In his 1958 essay “The Beginnings of Rationalism” Karl Popper traces the progress of the “tradition of critical discussion” back to the Ionian School of the Pre-Socratic philosopher Thales:

“I can hardly imagine a relationship between master and pupil in which the master merely tolerates criticism without actively encouraging it… At any rate, there is a historical fact that the Ionian school was the first in which the pupils criticised their masters, in one generation after the other… It was a momentous innovation. It meant a break with the dogmatic tradition which permits only one school doctrine, and the introduction in its place of a tradition that admits a plurality of doctrines which all try to approach the truth by means of critical discussion.” -Karl Popper

How might we create a culture in which criticism is not only tolerated but positively encouraged? Criticism is such a vitally important component of any discursive environment because it has the potential to identify and articulate genuine weaknesses, problems and difficulties and raise them for discussion and debate in such a way that they may be overcome, or that improved solutions might be developed and implemented. Criticism has a deeply powerful role to play in all aspects of culture and society but it can also be significantly intimidating for the same reason. Criticism has the potential to undermine and disrupt situations and conditions which may have been reasonably workable, if not wholly perfect beforehand. It can divide people, cause acrimony, suspicion and long-lasting distrust. Criticism often makes those who are criticised feel insecure, and when criticism is made of superiors they're very likely to interpret it as an affront to their authority or professional position. It's necessary therefore that all criticisms are proffered with a generous helping of tact in order that the person making the criticism doesn't undermine the very ground on which they stand, not to mention the value of the criticism offered. In 1848 John Stuart Mill was well aware of this necessity when he wrote:

“In general, opinions contrary to those commonly received can only obtain a hearing by studied moderation of language, and the most cautious avoidance of unnecessary offence, from which they hardly ever deviate even in a slight degree without losing ground…”

Such tact can take the form of considerate, well timed appropriately toned comments but in certain circumstances even this doesn’t guarantee open approval. In group situations the process of offering criticism can be even more complicated and often puts the individual making the criticism in a very vulnerable and uncomfortable position. In such group situations the tendency towards groupthink is very strong indeed and may even lead to individuals being ostracised if they’re seen to express what might be interpreted as dissenting opinion.

Groupthink can arise just as easily within egalitarian peer groups as it can within the hierarchy of groups with identified leaders. However, it’s only within hierarchical groups that leaders are likely to unwittingly dissuade critical input:

“For example, subtle constraints, which the leader may reinforce inadvertently, may prevent a member from fully exercising his critical powers and from openly expressing doubts about a risky course of action when most others in the group appear to have reached a consensus.” - Irving L. Janis 1982

In the book “Groupthink: Psychological Studies of Policy Decisions and Fiascoes” from which the above quote derives, Janis describes how amiability amongst small groups of leaders can actually lead to unquestioned reinforcement and implementation of ill-formed decisions with potentially disastrous consequences. He therefore advocates a nine-point list of checks and reviews which are intended to counter groupthink and to arrive at thorough and fully considered outcomes. What I find most interesting here is that Janis’ suggestions are universally discursive in nature and place a great deal of emphasis on the leaders’ active promotion and “acceptance” of critical opinion.

In ideal circumstances the counter-opinions of others can be extremely useful to ensure that all avenues have been fully explored, but even within the solitude of our own thoughts there’s a constant process of give-and-take occurring between judgment and critical analysis which allows us to make more informed decisions about the experiences that we encounter. In 1996 the neurologist Vilayanur Ramachandran put forward the hypothesis that the right and left hemispheres of the brain react differently to unexpected experiences. Whilst the left hemisphere of the brain seeks to maintain rationality and the continuity of belief, using a variety of cognitive processes and self deceptions; the right brain acts as a kind of devil’s advocate or “anomaly detector” that registers, and responds to, inconsistencies. The right brain (the side most commonly associated with creativity) therefore challenges and counters the left brain’s tendency towards superficial or unexamined answers.

So whether it is within group situations or the confines of one’s own mind, critical input is a vital tool in arriving at informed decisions. But who stands to gain the most from such decisions? In the case of individuals the answer is obvious but the case of groups it is less so. Everyone in a group benefits from the positive actions of the group, but the leader of any group always benefits (or suffers) the most. Despite the energy, vulnerability and tact which is necessary to giving criticism, it’s always the case that the person who stands to gain most from critical input is the leader of the group. This is a useful observation because it allows us to recognize something about what we could call the “economics of criticism”: something is given and something is received; something is sacrificed and something is gained. But, of course this isn’t always the case. The person making the criticism might not be doing it for purely altruistic reasons. Sometimes criticism is offered simply as a reprimand or retribution for some perceived injustice or incompetence. In this case it would be better to think of such criticism as defiance. Defiance is an expression of non-co-operation or counter action whereas criticism, when extended in the fullness of its potential, offers the hope of positive change. The obstacle to genuine criticism then, is that it’s too easily mixed with, or mistaken for, defiance.

It will be clear by now that there’s certainly a need for a high level of tact in the delivery of critical opinion to ensure that it’s taken in the spirit in which it was intended. But if we think further about the economics of criticism we can see that there’s also an additional emphasis on leaders themselves being willing and able to sustain criticism and engage it meaningfully, since, if they fully understand what they may have to gain through their acceptance of criticism, they’ll realize that such gifts also come with responsibilities. It might be useful here to develop this formulation of criticism as a kind of gift which needs to be packaged very carefully, but in addition to this careful wrapping there’s also a significant imperative, on the part of the receiver, in having the humility to understand that whilst not all gifts are things which are desired, they nonetheless represent a sacrifice on the part of the giver and the promise of a positive gain on the part of the receiver. The respect which this demands is a vital from of tact and one which all leaders would do well to cultivate.

“In the case of any person whose judgment is really deserving of confidence, how has it become so? Because he has kept his mind open to criticism of his opinions and conduct. Because it has been his practice to listen to all that could be said against him; to profit by as much of it as was just, and expound to himself, and upon occasion to others, the fallacy of what was fallacious. Because he has felt, that the only way in which a human being can make some approach to knowing the whole of a subject, is by hearing what can be said about it by persons of every variety of opinion, and studying all modes in which it can be looked at by every character of mind.” –JS Mill

This essay was originally published on Dyske.com here.

References:

David Miller (1983). A Pocket Popper. UK: Fontana.

John Stuart Mill (1848)1988. On Liberty. London: BPCC Paperbacks.

V.S. Ramachandran, The evolutionary biology of self-deception, laughter, dreaming and depression: some clues from anosognosia, Medical Hypotheses, November 1996, 47(5):347-62.

Irving L. Janis (1982). Groupthink: Psychological Studies of Policy Decisions and Fiascoes. London: Wadsworth