The Critic

My studio is now in the foyer of my 1930s cottage. It isn't exactly the place to make big sculptures. So, I've been painting. I don't see myself as someone who is very skilled at mixing color and my paintings tend to be very monochromatic and more like drawings with paint than anything. Let me introduce you to my Critic. If you are an artist, writer, musician, runner, student, or any other type of person you probably have an inner Critic who is always cutting you down and trying to talk you out of living out your calling. In Christianity we call this voice the Devil, Satan, whatever. In the arts, he is the Critic. My Critic is cruel and relentless, but he is never creative. When I started this particular painting, the conversation went a little like this:

Critic: This painting sucks.
Sarah: I've only been working on it for three minutes.
Critic: Well, it probably will suck, then.
Sarah: I don't care, I'm having fun.
Critic: Don't you have better things to do than make a sucky painting?
Sarah: Shut up and let me paint.
Silence
Critic: Your painting sucks.
Sarah: Would you shut up. I'm having fun and it doesn't matter.
Critic: Sucks.
Sarah: Groan.

And so it goes and so I paint. The Critic doesn't leave me alone there. When I sit down to write my thesis, he says the same thing. "You'll never finish this thesis. It's terrible anyway." Or in sculpture, "Your best work is behind you, you might as well give up now." Or in my day-to-day "You are a lazy, good-for-nothing, Sarah." I try to show him my resume, which has many fine points and awards. He isn't impressed. "Well, so-and-so has a PhD and you don't." I can't win with him. So, I'm trying to silence him. Kill him. Off with his head!