Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking by David Bayles and Ted Orland

Santa Cruz: Image Continuum Press, 2001
122 pp. $12.95 (paperback)

I’m not an artist—I’m a phony
I have nothing worth saying
I’m not sure what I’m doing
Other people are better than I am
I’m only a [student/physicist/mother/whatever]
No one understands my work
No one likes my work
I’m no good (13)

These are just a handful of the doubts and fears that plague many artists as they set out to make art. Such worries are no surprise given that many consider art the result of forces outside their control—and because through their work, artists reveal their deepest convictions, standing spiritually naked in front of the world (or at least in front of those who take the time to discover their art). If left unchallenged, such fears will not only hamper artists’ ability to do their work, but even motivate some to quit.

Thankfully, Art & Fear comes to the rescue. The authors, themselves artists, draw upon their years of experience and stories about successful creatives to demystify art and show that most problems artists face are neither unique nor proof of unworthiness but common and fixable.

By explaining how one can create good art via hard work and rational processes, the book dispels myths of inborn talent and mystical inspiration, and it encourages artists to cultivate skills, just as in any other profession. Although the authors acknowledge that people differ radically in their abilities, they hold that “Talent is a snare and a delusion,” and believing in it offers no useful encouragement to artists (28). What is instead useful to know is that all artists, even prodigies such as Mozart, “get better by sharpening their skills or by acquiring new ones; they get better by learning to work, and by learning from their work” (28). In the long run, the book argues, whoever works hard and perseveres will improve; whoever counts on talent to produce art without nurturing their ability will stagnate or deteriorate.

Another “fatalistic suspicion” many artists share is “that when their own art turns out well, it’s a fluke—but when it turns out poorly, it’s an omen” that they never had what it takes to be artists (34). Countering this view, Art & Fear shows that there are reasons why artists sometimes work well and other times get stuck. Knowing these empowers them to surmount difficulties and get more done:

[W]hen you watch your work unfold day by day, piece by piece, there’s no escaping cause and effect. Simply put, what you did got you here, and if you apply the same methods again you will likely get the same result again. This is true not just for being stuck, but for all other artistic states as well—including highly productive states. As a practical matter, ideas and methods that work usually continue to work. If you were working smoothly and now you are stuck, chances are you unnecessarily altered some approach that was already working perfectly well. (57)

Even if artists understand that making good art is in their hands, they will face difficulties if they focus too much on the final product and too little on craft. For instance, some spend most of their time dreaming about the perfect piece instead of working on it. And some don’t do the work at all because they’re afraid the real-life result will not match their imagination. As the authors put it:

[T]o require perfection is to invite paralysis. . . . You find reasons to procrastinate, since to not work is to not make mistakes. Believing that artwork should be perfect, you gradually become convinced that you cannot make such work. (You are correct.) Sooner or later, since you cannot do what you are trying to do, you quit. (30)

Instead, Bayles and Orland advise artists, while they’re working, to focus only on the process of making art.

By heeding that advice, artists can solve most issues that relate to their craft. But their problems are unlikely to end there. “Once the art has been made, an entirely new set of problems arise, problems that require the artist to engage the outside world” (65). These problems may include finding clients, withstanding critics, or managing to create art while working other jobs to pay the bills. The authors advise finding the right balance between making art that expresses one’s values and that others also value. Because such balance is contextual and, as the authors acknowledge, people have little reason to be interested in an unknown artist’s work, this part of the book offers less guidance than the one discussing an artists’ inner difficulties.

Bayles and Orland hold that art can “be tested against real-world values and experience” to discover its market value (93). The authors promote the optimistic view that each and every piece has some potential to appeal to an audience and that if artists continue to improve by making lots of art, they may eventually become successful—even if they initially face hostility or indifference.

Whether discussing how artists can establish themselves, hone their craft, or overcome psychological challenges, Art & Fear argues for the uncommon position that making art need not be shrouded in mystery. Like all other work, it, too, can and should be approached rationally. This makes Art & Fear a must-read for any and all artists who want a better understanding of their inner processes, the ability to deal with irrational fears, and encouragement to make good art while remaining true to their values.

About Andreea Mincu

Andreea Mincu is a freelance writer with a degree in film production.

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