I am in the midst of preparing for a show of new work. During a recent critique with colleagues, I focused (rather obsessively) on technical and formal issues until one member of the group challenged me. She said, “Wendy, the work is beautiful, and the technical problems are details that you have always solved, but this is a diversion. You need to get back to the content, the meaning of the work.”
She was right. I have notebooks full of writing about the subject that I had been shooting, but had not yet spent enough time articulating and expanding those thoughts. After her astute remark, I did not feel criticized; instead I felt energized and inspired to plunge into the tough issues. The rest of our session was animated, thought provoking and extremely helpful.
Did I employ and appreciate my colleague’s criticism because of the supportive way in which she delivered it, or because I am at a mature stage of my work?
Many years ago, I was given what should have been the plum job of designing a poster for an upcoming public event. My boss handed me the assignment with a few scribbled sketches and said, “If I had the time, I would do this, but I can’t do everything.” He made it clear to me that I was a poor substitute, but I would have to suffice. I spent most of my time trying to figure out what he would have designed, unconsciously rejecting everything that was unique to my own capabilities.
Was I flummoxed by my boss because he was insensitive, or because I was insecure?
What does it mean to be supportive? Does it change depending on the maturity of the “supportee”? How does support—getting it and giving it—evolve over the course of one’s career? How can we be more aware in each stage, delivering and accepting criticism to its best advantage?
I’m not promoting wimpiness, nor am I ignoring the realities of the business world. I know that, in times of intense competition, deadlines and chaos, one cannot stop and say, “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings?” However, I do believe that insightful support produces the best outcome for all parties, and is therefore worthy of study and practice. One must be conscious of both the situation and the people involved, and consider the needs of each.
The earliest encounters of support in one’s profession typically begin in school. All too frequently, a teacher’s intention is to be supportive, but the result is imposition and control, instead of helping a student to find his or her own voice.
In the beginning stages of one’s career, support is more of a by-product. Our bosses (who may, incidentally, be mentors) need to be more focused on their business than on our education. Support and/or its erosion occurs in more condensed episodes, especially now, when time is so scarce.
As we become more stable and mature in our professions, the nature of support morphs again. The power relationship equalizes, and support becomes more mutual, often taking the form of collaboration between colleagues.
As one approaches retirement, relationships shift once again. Responsibilities are delegated, and replacements are groomed. In some of the classes I have taught, there are students who have begun second careers. The cycle restarts, and the loop begins again.
No matter what stage of career or set of circumstances, there is nothing more important than to acknowledge one’s individuality. In the book
Seeing is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees by Lawrence Weschler, the artist (and teacher) Robert Irwin said, “I think the most immoral thing you can do is have ambitions for someone else’s mind.”
From time to time, I use this column as a place to invite and share your thoughts and experiences. We all have stories about people who have influenced our careers, and the ways we have influenced others. So I am asking you to respond: How has their support (or lack thereof) affected the different stages of your career? And how has your support affected the work of others?
Please e-mail me at
ca@wrichmond.com, and I will include your comments in a future column. Your name, and the names of people and places, will not be published.
CA© 2007 W. Richmond