No One Knows What They're Talking About

For a while I was a critic. I do still sort-of consider myself an unpaid critic even though I've never been paid in the first place. I cannot help but view a piece of artwork and judge it even though I know that people have worked hard on it and I don't want to crush their dreams. There's a reason why artists hate critics, which is why I'm surprised so many artists are also critics themselves.

You can tell from the opening paragraph that the art world is a really confusing one - mostly because everyone is an artist and thus art can come from absolutely anywhere. Of course, not everyone can be a 'good' artist...but the term 'good art' is even more subjective than the term 'art.'

I'm about to finish a Creative Writing degree. If you want to study writing at university, then I definitely recommend it. Before university, I was in doubt as to what I wanted to be. Now, I certainly want to write. But if you're one of those 'university of life' people, then go for it. Fight against the norm. Pave your own path! Carve your way through society! Go forth unto civilization! I've forgotten the point I was making!

Whilst I don't regret going to university, even though I'm over £40,000 in debt, my experience with lecturers have been interesting. Every one I was taught by had a plethora of knowledge, and they were more than willing to give that knowledge to us. But they also marked my work.

I hugely admire Salvador Dali. When he was a student, he failed because he refused to be judged by his teachers as he believed them to be inferior. I certainly don't believe my fifteen years of experience to be anything compared to theirs, but they all have their tastes. I've put just as much effort into one piece to get a 2:1, and then I've got another piece that I dashed out in just three weeks (which is nothing compared to how long I, on average, spend on a piece) because I was being rushed. It received a 1st.

I don't get my lecturers.

Sometimes it feels like they've only marked the work high because they were extremely drunk when marking the piece (that would explain their illegible handwriting) or they were just generally in a good mood. Similarly, I would have had a creative piece work-shopped several times by both my classmates and my lecturer only to get a mediocre mark because the lecturer presumably was going through a breakup or existential crisis or hangover (which, again, would explain the illegible handwriting).

It's either that or I think I just get lucky sometimes. A couple of times I've really liked a piece I've been working on, only to find that my lecturer disagrees. Other times I completely hate a piece and expect failure only for it to get a much better mark than anticipated. More often, I've poured my heart and soul into a piece, devoted every waking moment to it, driven myself to the point of insanity to find out I apparently still could have done better. What else do you want me to do? Should I sever a bodypart? Trying to appease a lecturer is like trying to get your high-school crush to notice you.

I'm walking out of university with an award for 'Best Fiction and 'Best Screenplay' writer...despite the fact that only a handful of my fiction pieces have got high marks and I've only ever written one screenplay. I was tempted to hand the prize over to one of the many other writers on my course who deserved the award far more than I - like John Travolta did in Saturday Night Fever. Did I mention that I don't get my lecturers? Because I think I'm living on a different plane of existence to them.

A few weeks ago I was browsing through the reviews of Roger Ebert. God rest his soul, but despite being one of the worlds most respected film critics, it's kind of amazing how often the man got things wrong. He praised The Phantom Menace, he hated Fight Club, and he was indifferent to Brazil - which is one of my favorite movies of all time. Similarly, it's incredible how many people hated Citizen Kane when it was first released. It was booed, it was shunned, and Orson Welles struggled to get work again afterwards. Hard to believe, considering it's now a critical darling.

Add to this the fact that Stanley Kubrick never won an Oscar and Alfred Hitchcock only won one for a film no-ones ever heard of since and you start to wonder: does anyone know what they're talking about? Am I living on a different plane of existence to everyone?

I laugh at all these people, but I only laugh because I sit from the smug position of the present. Roger Ebert couldn't have ever predicted the backlash of The Phantom Menace, and no-one would've even considered Citizen Kane going on to become an absolute classic. I've been wrong many times. I too really liked The Dark Knight, but looking back I've since decided it's actually pretty flawed. I think Sherlock is overrated, I can't stand anything Joss Whedon writes, and a show called Scott and Bailey is one of the best things on television.

And I could still be wrong. I could watch Sherlock again in ten years time and love it. I could watch a Joss Whedon scripted film and not want to strangle everyone onscreen. The world changes, as do opinions and outlooks on life.

So I'm wrong. My lecturers are wrong. The Academy is wrong. Roger Ebert was wrong. You're wrong. Everyone is wrong. No one knows what they're talking about. So now what?

Well: since no one knows anything, then I suggest you just do what you want, like what you want, make what you want, and live how you want. So long as it doesn't hurt anyone - and 'anyone' includes yourself - then go for it.

But I'm wrong, so you don't have to listen to me.