kind of images at which we were looking. I replied that while that could be true, I’d never seen any of their work, so it was difficult to determine whether or not that was actually the case. I kindly suggested that they go out and shoot some similar black-and-white photographs and indicated that I’d be most interested in seeing their results. They agreed that they’d do that and seemed excited by the prospect of such a challenge. However, somewhat unsurprisingly, I never heard anything from that potential photographer again. Nor did I ever view any of their black-and-whites. I can only assume that they either never actually attempted to take any images or that their results were not nearly as exceptional or engaging as they’d imagined. Perhaps they found the task to be more daunting than they’d envisioned it might be during the moment when we stood together looking at those incredibly elegant, ethereal photographs.
Robert Delaunay, Premier Disque, 1912–1913, 52.7"
quality. Because here’s what most real artists would say: “Ah, I could’ve done that SO much better!” (They are all so competitive, and rightly so.) The old adage about “it’s the thought/effort that counts” applies here, and not just to the visual arts, but to all creative endeavors from film to music to literature to clothing design to songwriting to whatever you can think of that takes two human hands, an imaginative and energetic brain, and some bit of originality and ingenuity to make it happen. Some time ago, as I was oohing-and-aahing over a collection of what I found to be stunningly beautiful, though seemingly simple, black-and-white photographs at a gallery opening, an acquaintance turned to me and announced with bravado that they could have shot the very
Wassily Kandinsky, Improvisation 27 (Garden of Love II), 1912, Oil on canvas, 47 3/8" x 55 1/4"
So, for me, here’s the lesson, friends and fellow viewers: When you do judge, tread lightly, and strive not to be too harsh. Be as kind as possible. Be gentle (like a whisper) and be thoughtful—in a manner that would make the Dalai Lama show his enigmatic smile. Take into consideration that the art of whatever the craft may be has some intrinsic worth and some personal meaning, at least to its creator. Keep in mind that it absolutely merits your respect if only for the simple reason that the person who did whatever you might be so merrily critiquing spent a portion of their finite, valuable time on this planet actually trying to do something. If nothing else, think of it like this: the human being who made this thing that you are sprinkling with such nonchalant disdain, while pronouncing it ‘elementary, my dear’, was responsible for giving you something to think about, even if you hated it or found it lacking in some significant way. And, for that, you owe the artist a gracious, genuine nod of thanks. Because while you could’ve done it, you probably didn’t . . . but they most certainly did.
František Kupka, Amorpha, fugue en deux couleurs, 1912, 83" x 79"
Leigh R. Hendry is the Director of External Affairs, Tennessee State Museum. She is not an artist. www.tnmuseum.org NashvilleArts.com
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