Self-Portrait, Pablo Picasso, 1906

“The world today doesn’t make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?

- Pablo Picasso

Part 1: Eliminate your need for approval

In a previous blog post here on Archinect, I briefly discussed the trap of desiring the approval of other people. For the sake of this piece, I'll revisit some of those points. The reason getting torn down verbally by a professor or any critic hurts so much is threefold: first, we lack confidence in the work that we've done. Second, we believe our work defines our worth. And lastly, we yearn for the approval of other people. Let's dive deeper into each one.

Picasso and group criticism

Anytime we complete a creative work there is (hopefully) some emotion invested in it. Art is the expression of emotion the saying goes. We see this in music, painting, writing, and yes, even architecture. When emotion is involved, there is also sentimentality, and with that comes vulnerability. In short, it becomes easier to be offended by critics. We have put our all into the work, and we would dare anyone criticize what we've bestowed upon the world. It's a natural human tendency, but also a weakness. Offense in this context is only possible if we don't completely believe in what we've done. We are a bit insecure about our creation, and when someone pushes the right button, we get worked up — they've confirmed our doubts.

We are a bit insecure about our creation, and when someone pushes the right button, we get worked up — they've confirmed our doubts

As I thought about this, I was reminded of when Pablo Picasso painted his Les Demoiselles d'Avignon in 1907 at the age of 26. He had already made a name for himself with the Blue and Rose Period paintings. It was in this new work that the artist really threw out the status-quo and tried something radically different. In this piece, Picasso did away with perspective and other aspects of painting that sought to depict a photographic representation of reality. Instead, the young innovator introduced distorted, 2-dimensional figures with African-mask like facial features (this painting marked the beginning of Picasso's African Period, where he had just begun to explore cubism). To say the least, he had taken the traditional ideas about painting and flipped them upside down.

It took the young artist about nine months and hundreds of preparatory sketches to complete the seminal work — for him, it was a revolutionary masterpiece. But when it came time to show his closest friends the new creation, they thought he was joking. They hated it. Imagine the young painter's spirits at this point. After working tirelessly for almost a year on ONE piece, only to have his most trusted allies completely bash it?! I'd be beside myself in disappointment. Today, we see the Les Demoiselles d'Avignon as an iconic jewel, but back in 1907, it took about ten years after Picasso completed it that the art world began to embrace this new style. Despite his friend's disapproval, Picasso knew he was onto something, and now we're here talking about his creative work that everyone hated.

Who are you?

Imagine you're at a cocktail party with people who are not architects and designers. Let's say it's a work party a friend or spouse has invited you too. What is the first thing most people will ask you when you meet for the first time? So, what do you do? Right? And we respond by telling the person what we do, maybe even what project we are working on, and if we aren't licensed, we contemplate taking the time to explain to the person the complex path to practice architecture or if we should just lie and say we are architects.

What if we looked at this a little deeper and just asked ourselves, who am I? How would you answer that question? Are you your job? Your major? Your salary? Your skills? Accomplishments? What defines your identity? It's an interesting thing to ponder. It's kind of a trap, isn't it? Why can't you just be you? Because when we are our job, who are we if we lose it or if we don't get that next big commission? If we're our accomplishments, what happens if we have a rough year? Who are we then? When we attach our identity to these kinds of things, and they come up short, we, by definition, decline in worth. This happens in architecture all of the time, both in school and as a professional.

... when we are our job, who are we if we lose it or if we don't get that next big commission? If we're our accomplishments, what happens if we have a rough year?

Like Picasso, we work tirelessly on an idea, and if it isn't received favorably we break down, our day is ruined, some even consider quitting architecture. We question our ability. Maybe this isn't what I'm cut out for. And worst of all, we come to think that we as individuals are perhaps a little inferior to the chosen ones whose work everyone loves. We diminish our value all because our work did not perform how we thought it would. This is a sure way to end up crippled and broken down.

These are the symptoms of poor self-identity. Perhaps, we should look at ourselves in terms of our values, our "code." When you set standards for yourself to live by and you abide by them, no matter what happens, you're always staying true to yourself. Here's an example: one of my standards is to always give one hundred percent of my effort in all of my work. There is nothing anyone can say that will make me feel like I could have worked harder. People can hate on it all day, and it won't matter — I know I did my best. But for this to work, I have to be okay with someone else's "best" being better than mine. I have to be comfortable with where I am at as an individual. This is the true test and is a perfect segue into the next section.

Codependency kills

“Those who have subdued their ego understand that it doesn’t degrade you when others treat you poorly; it degrades them.”

- Ryan Holiday, Ego is the Enemy

Ultimately, our emotional response to criticism comes from an underlying need for the approval of other people. We hate the thought of someone not liking us or our work. We take it personally. When we do a "good job" at something, we want people to give us pats on the back and tell us how great we are. This is not a mockery. I do it too. We all do. It's part of human nature. We want to be recognized for our work, we deserve accolades and praise, and when we don't receive it, something seems wrong with the world.

In my final year of college in a thesis preparation studio, I remember presenting to a panel of professors on the idea I was developing (it was the mid-year review). At this point in my education, I had grown to disdain the jargony language so many people would use in academic discourse. As a result, I had spent the previous two years honing my presentation skills, mainly focusing on simplifying my concepts and ideas. For me, the less complex I could make something to understand the better (I used to present my projects to my wife, a hairstylist [non-architectural-overly-intellectual type], and if there were any moments where she was confused, I'd simplify further.)

In any case, after my presentation, two of the panelists told me that my work was "lacking the vocabulary for a college level course." I smiled inside when I heard this. I had accomplished what I set out to do. What's more, those same people said that my idea was solid, essentially just lacking the jargon. So all they really wanted was for me to sound like an egghead? No thanks.

It took five years for me to get to the point of where I didn't need my teachers to agree with me

If I cared about these instructors' recognition and acceptance, I would have had a different reaction. I probably would have been devastated. But, on the contrary, their criticism didn't phase me. It took five years for me to get to the point of where I didn't need my teachers to agree with me. Ultimately, it's a culmination of the three things we've discussed here, a natural progression. I became confident in my work and myself, and I did not believe that my work defined who I was as a person, with those two things in the bag, seeking recognition becomes a laughable afterthought.

Part 2: Know when to listen

Yes, it's great to be confident in ourselves and not care what people think of us, but sometimes, we should care. All criticism is not adverse. In fact, a lot of criticism is valid. It's the ability to suss out what to listen to and what to ignore that will help us improve in our craft. Those professors who told me that the vocabulary in my presentation was too simple were not completely wrong. They knew that I thought about my ideas in a more sophisticated manner and that I had simplified them for the presentation. I still disagreed that I should introduce complex vocabulary just for the sake of "sophistication" but what I did realize, after receiving their feedback, was that, in an academic context, sometimes being a little more "robust" in my language would do well for my "professorial" audience.

All criticism is not adverse. In fact, a lot of criticism is valid. It's the ability to suss out what to listen to and what to ignore that will help us improve in our craft

For my final presentation, I tweaked the rhetoric and implemented a little more complexity. The presentation went a lot better. From that initial feedback, I learned the valuable lesson of crafting my arguments based on my audience as opposed to using a universal approach of only being as simplistic as possible. Some circles like to get technical while others prefer the conceptual — this is what criticism taught me.

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Our willingness to be teachable will enable us to take our ventures to the next level. It's this combination of conviction and open-mindedness that equips us to refine our skills, stand out from the crowd, and produce world-class work. Throw out the need for approval, do work you believe in, and push yourself to be the best you can be, and when all else fails, at least you will have stayed true to who you are.