My Inner Critic

Drawing was the first skill I realised I was good at, aside from reading perhaps. I remember being in primary school and having people lined up next to me with pieces of paper, wanting me to draw things for them. At the time I didn’t realise that giving away my talents for free was probably a mistake but I didn’t have an entrepreneurial bone in my body!

Art has always been one of my greatest loves but I pretty much abandoned it after school. I’m certain that everyone has at least one teacher that they didn’t get along with and mine was an art teacher.

She was the only person I ever came across who would define art as “right” and “wrong”. In reality she was identifying what she personally liked and disliked, although she would never word it in such as subjective way. I would dread her lessons when she would wander the classroom, going from person to person, always with a criticism or “suggestion” (which was not an option but more of an order) to make the work better. I even remember her taking a paintbrush from a girl near me and painting “corrections” on the work herself! It created an awful atmosphere of tension and defeat.

She became the constant voice of negativity when it came to my work.

I want to be clear that I welcome feedback and believe there are always ways of improving, however I never heard a single compliment for anyone’s work in my class. As far as we were concerned, she was cold and uncaring, and my growing dislike for her ended up tainting me creatively.

I began to pick and doubt my work. I disliked everything I made and I felt so inferior compared to my friends in the class. I was so fed up.

When it came to my final project with her I had had enough. I was so sick of my work not being enough or to her taste, that I decided to completely rebel.

I walked into class, ready to be berated by her, with a detailed plan of my final project; deliberately designed to be her worst nightmare.

When she finally reached me, her lips pursed and ready to pass judgement, I didn’t even allow her to speak. I word vomited for several minutes about my plan and how I was going to execute it. It was an amazing piece - a sculpture made of wire and plaster; a dragon’s claw climbing out of a book.

I gave no invitation for comments, no indication that I wanted any involvement from her at all.

When I had finally finished she simply nodded shyly and left. I think she realised that her opinions were not going to change my plan at all.

I spent weeks putting it together - always ready to present for her if she decided to approach my table, although I noticed her bothering me less and less after that.

To this day, I am still incredibly proud of that piece that sixteen year old Em had created. Not only was it awesome and took an enormous amount of time to create, but it was also the piece that was graded the highest (notably not by said art teacher) and was the symbol of my quiet rebellion against a pessimistic teacher.

It taught me that I didn’t need to take anyone’s comments unless I wanted to, that good things come from trusting your instincts and creating what feeds your soul.

This same energy is what fuels Brave Little Foxes.

Whilst I don’t have an irritating teacher over my shoulder telling me that I’m doing things wrong, the anger and frustration I used to feel empowers me now when I’m feeling insecure about my work. It pushes me to try harder and be more brave.

We all deserve to believe in ourselves and what we create. We can accept suggestions for improvements but never purely negative and hateful comments.

You deserve to be proud of what you create.

So I suppose the message I want to leave you all with this week, is be kind to yourself and your work and trust your gut. The best things you create will be the things that you worked the hardest for.

- Em x