Finding Your Artistic Arrogance

Hey peeps, welcome to the middle of the week!

I mentioned on Monday I was going to post about this, so get excited. I’ve been thinking about artistic arrogance quite a bit recently (a recurring theme inside the restlessly churning cogs of my brain) and wanted to share it with you all.

Where to start…?

What do I even mean by that idea, artistic arrogance? For me, it’s about keeping your doubts hidden, even when you’re agonisingly unsure. Nothing is more painful or off-putting to other people than the classic awkward introduction of: “well, it’s not very good, but” or “everyone else’s is better than mine,” or “I’m not very good at this!” Seriously. As the creator, it’s your job to present your piece and, for the most part, to let your work do the talking. It is not your job to tell people what your fears are, or try to forewarn them about how substandard you think your work is. Do we do this because we think this will somehow make critics treat us more kindly? Do we hope that if they hear us denigrate our creation, they’ll appreciate our honesty?

Here’s a (not-so-secret) secret for you: people don’t care. What the vast majority of people want (especially when it comes to submissions and queries) is to be introduced to your work in an open and informative manner, and then be left to interact with it. Some people will love it (like my boyfriend always does – thank youuu) and some people will hate it. Some people will read it critically and provide feedback that allows you to develop the piece and hone your talents (hold on to them, they are angels in disguise!), and some people will just shrug because ‘it was ok’.

Artistic arrogance, to me, is about putting your best foot forward, regardless of how you feel on the inside. Even when I’m incredibly nervous that my piece isn’t very good, there are only a few select people who will get to hear that (poor bastards). The rest of the world will see only my chin held high and my work (be it poem, short story, essay, blog post or novel) proudly thrust at them. That’s how I approach creativity: I’m damned if I will let every other person know that I’m unsure about myself. But the thing is, I also have a secret. Most of the time, I think my work is pretty good. Argh, bring on the slings and arrows, but it’s the truth: I think my writing is decent. Good, even. Developing, certainly, but all in all, I’m not unhappy with some of the things I produce. Before it sees the light of day it is often edited multiple times, but I’m still banking on my own skills to produce something that I consider ‘good enough’. [Admittedly, that may be a problem: I mean, I’m clearly not as good as I think, or I’d have won a whole bunch of competitions by now and at least one of my magazine submissions would have been accepted. Right? ]

The BIG point here for me is: for the most part, no one else needs to know that I’m worried about my work. It’s like when a good looking man or woman complains about needing to lose weight, right? No one really cares. It’s just that person, putting their personal issue out there and making it everyone else’s issue too, even though the rest of us don’t want to hear any more about it. No one wants to hear you stand up before them, right before you’re about to read their work, view your painting or taste your new culinary creation (not if you’re me, I served up semi-raw beef meatballs last night) and want you to bad mouth it before you do. Although, believe me, I know it can be tempting.

Please don’t think that I mean you will never get disheartened. You will. That’s inevitable. We all do. The fields of creative endeavour are strewn with rejections of the things you love best. You won’t be accepted for a submission, you won’t win the competition, you won’t get a book deal from the publishing house you sent your manuscript to (ala J.K Rowling). Someone will be unable to see the magic of what you have done, and you’ll have this sinking feeling, deep down inside, that maybe there is no magic after all.

I think that moment, when we question our own magic, is one of the most painful in the world.

But it benefits no one, least of all any of us, the creators, to tell the rest of the wide world that we don’t have that faith in ourselves. You need to have faith, first and foremost, because constant self-doubt and self-deprecation will only bring you down. Be proud of yourself and invest in a little bit of artistic arrogance to carry you through, even if you feel like you’re faking it. I can promise you that in time, the rest will follow.

I’d love to hear what you think about this concept. Is it valid? Am I crazy? [Disclaimer: the jury is still out on the second question.]

— Ana.