critique

It’s weird being an artist. It’s weird how quickly that title consumes you. I feel completely immersed in this world of art and design right now. It’s obviously incredible; I’m so blessed. What a privilege it is.

But what is it for? I spend my days perfecting my skills and my craft and my talent and my abilities, and then I’m constantly performing and then being judged for it. And these are some freaking deeply personal performances–it’s not like an exam, where you’re judged based on how much you studied for some generic topic. I’m pouring everything I’ve got–ME and nothing else–into what I–MEEEEE–create. And then I’m desperately hoping to pass. And not just pass, honestly. I want to be praised for how talented I–MEEEE–YO–RIGHT HERE– am.

And then there’s the Bible. And Joseph’s story. God literally made Little Joe successful at whatever he did. It wasn’t Joseph’s doing. The Lord enabled him. The Lord deserved all the credit, and Joey knew it.

Last week we had a critique in my graphic design class. Everybody hung their pretty patterns on the walls and walked around and said nice things about everyone else’s work and joked about how bad their own was. And then we sat down and critiqued each person. I don’t want my worth to be defined by what they said about me, but right now it slightly is.

It’s hard to keep track of what matters in art school and what matters to God. There are a lot of voices right now and I haven’t figured out which ones to listen to and which ones to smile at and nod at and politely ignore like the southern belle I obviously am.