By Kaitlyn Adams
Art by Rae-Lynn Shi
I have this recurring nightmare: I look down to find I am bleeding out of my stomach after arriving late and sweaty to class. In my moment of bloody panic, I am met with another paralyzing realization—my work is tremendously laughable, and, on top of my stomach wound is growing. As if on cue, everyone around me, including the professor, starts to laugh. Meanwhile, I try to make my way through the crowd to get help for what seems to be a stab wound. It’s a cruel moment of complete exposure that has existed in my brain for five months now.
The psychoanalysis is pretty simple: a deep-rooted fear of being a humiliating spectacle, even in death. And, while disturbing, this nightmare is not unique to me. I’ve talked to classmates about this, and I find that most of my peers, no matter the artist, worst nightmare is exactly the same as mine: being ridiculed or humiliated for their art and who they are. The idea of having your work dismissed strikes a nerve with all creatives, especially those in school who likely have yet to gain confidence in their field. The irony, of course, is that criticism is a necessity in art school. As a writer, half of what I do is catalog my own errors and faults.
I believe the embarrassment lies in the influence of social media. We live in a cultural climate where it is normal to pervert your life for an audience, documenting exactly what you want others to see, often beginning earlier than high school. Instagram encourages us to curate an image of effortless cool, and anything that deviates from this—anything that feels too sincere or too imperfect—is met with cringe. Art school can feel like a constant cycle of humiliation in our own vulnerability. The tidal wave that is “cringeworthy content” has given way for people to dismiss genuine attempts at self-expression. It creates a sense of superiority, allowing us to laugh at the earnestness of others without having to reflect on their own insecurities. Cringing demands no vulnerability or self-awareness in return, creating does.
Art is, by its very nature, a process of trial and error. It requires failure, vulnerability, and the willingness to put yourself out there, defective and human. The pressure to be polished and perfect is constant, and it is becoming more and more impossible to embrace the messy, imperfect process that creativity demands. On the one hand, we are expected to take risks, push boundaries, and embrace failure as part of artistic growth. We are surrounded by a world that discourages due process and celebrates shallow success. The pressure to avoid shame stifles creativity and makes it harder to take the risks that lead to artistic greatness. If we are too afraid of being laughed at or mocked, we may never create the bold, innovative work that defines great art. Instead, we will fall into the trap of creating safe, uninspired work that fits neatly into the mold of what is socially acceptable but lacks the depth and vulnerability true artistry requires. For our art to be impactful and authentic, we need to learn to navigate vulnerability and authenticity without being paralyzed by our fear of cringe.
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