#because even if you don’t outwardly get acknowledged by said artist. the comments are still very much appreciated

[getosugurusbangs]

daily reminder that reblogging posts does a lot more for said post than you might think!!

(the sentiment stands even firmer in regards to art posts… support your favorite artists)

[kuriquinn]

Because apparently, we all need some kind of disclaimer these days…

This feedback debate is getting ridiculous and causing people who are normally very level-headed and polite to act ridiculous. A huge chunk of the dissonance is people reacting to things out of context or internalizing hypothetical situations as direct personal attacks, or weighing in on the matter as if there is only a right way and a wrong way to look at the matter. Some of it is about petty stuff, such as the chosen terminology or vocabulary used to express opinions (and then taking that completely out of context to make baseless accusations against people).

 ***

MAIN MISCONCEPTION:

Somehow, this debate has gone from “is it wrong for content creators to want to encourage leaving feedback on their work” to “should content creators expect guaranteed feedback?”

Which, honestly, are two different questions entirely, and dissecting either of them would take an entire extra post.

They both touch on a common idea, however, one which seems to be the default in fandom today: that any content creator who awaits basic gratitude/acknowledgement for their fandom contributions (or frequently encourages or asks for it) is being problematic in some way.

Because somewhere along the line, it became gauche to be proud of one’s work or seek acknowledgement for it.

It reminds me of how, growing up (raised in a Christian environment), we were praised for not drawing attention to ourselves, for not being outwardly proud of our accomplishments or looks or talents. The minute you expressed confidence or pride in something you could do, you had people cautioning you not to let it go to your head, not to be proud/vain/arrogant/immodest, not to brag, not to fish for compliments, not to seem like you were better than anyone else.

There is something fundamental in our society that discourages people from displaying pride at their accomplishments or expecting their work to be treated according to what it’s worth. Especially if you are female/female-presenting or part of a female-dominated sphere/career. (Again, that goes into an entirely different discourse, so we’ll leave it at that!)

When really, it has nothing to do with being better than anyone, it has to do with feeling accomplished at having achieved something, at having someone acknowledge that ‘hey, that thing you did which took a lot of work? You did it! That’s awesome!’.

All artists want some form of this.

I started writing fanfiction twenty odd years ago. And I started off in that mindset of, “well, I’m writing for myself, I don’t care about comments or feedback”. I just had all these headcanons and no one in my life to share them with, so I word-vomited on the internet whether anyone cared or not.

And while I was honing my craft and improving myself, it continued not to matter.

But now that I’m at my current level, where I know that I have a skill at writing, where I know I have the talent for it, and what I write is yards better than the tripe I produced when I first started out, now I want to find out from my readers what they like about it. If the aspects of my work that I enjoy the most have had the intended impact, or if someone likes the way I wrote a character or a specific dialogue.

But when I see that 100 people are reading my latest chapter or viewing my newest image (when I try my hand at making art, which I’m still very uncertain about!), and I get 1 comment about that? What I see is, “1 person liked my work, 99 people didn’t.” I know it’s not logical, and the rational part of my brain knows that’s not true, however, it’s really hard to argue with numbers.

And if 99 people don’t like my work, what’s the point of putting up anymore?

Now, let’s be fair.

There are some creators who don’t care.

It’s true—some amazing providers of content in my fandom and other fandoms honestly don’t care. They are at a stage in their life or career or whatever where they are honestly doing this only for themselves, where they create for themselves and share it and hey, if someone sees it great, if no one sees it, fine.

There’s nothing wrong with that, and even if it’s not my personal experience, I respect it.

What I don’t respect is how somehow, these creators who don’t expect or care about feedback are being used in this debate as some kind of paragon of creator virtue.

“Ooh, look, So-and-So doesn’t care about feedback, so no creators care about feedback—you’re being selfish and entitled for asking people to take the time to boost your ego.”

And that immediately paints a target on the backs of anyone who expresses an interest in receiving any form of acknowledgement for their work. Which, quite frankly, sucks.

This type of reaction is not isolated to the fandom sphere, either; in much of the art world, creators are often shamed or looked down on as being ingenuine or not “true” to their art if they want some form of acknowledgement.

That is, to put it plainly, bullshit.

An artist or writer who puts in 24 hours of work on a picture or story and then puts a note at the bottom asking people for feedback, is no less an artist/writer than someone who put in 24 hours of work and didn’t ask for anything. Both of them are just expecting different things from the relationship they have with their audience.

Both are valid.

Not that anyone could know that from some of the (frankly) baffling comments and arguments I’ve been seeing popping up on my dash the past few weeks. (See my other post...)

I’m sure there will be a ton of people who look at this wall of text and either ignore it, or worse, pick and choose a bunch of phrases out of context, then reblog just those specifically to make their points and turn what I’ve spent time out of my day working into a cohesive argument into something along the lines of “sdhjakfhajk all content consumers are selfish and everyone should comment or die ajdsahsjdfhasj”.

Unfortunately, that’s internet culture.

I can only hope that calmer heads will prevail and that someone who maybe didn’t think about this issue very much before took the time to read and think about what I’ve said.

[cph-dreaming]

Extract/dribbles # 8

But if he didn’t stay in Antwerp, what then? Where would he go? Sander loved his school. It had become the one thing apart from Robbe - no, he couldn’t think about that, not now - that kept him grounded. He knew he had talent. It wasn’t a feeling of grandeur or superiority, it was a simple acknowledgement of his skills, nothing more, nothing less. And the days his insecurity took over and dominated all he wanted to create, his professors kept him believing in himself. Because they believed in him.

The Academie wasn’t a walkover, not in the slightest, not for Sander. His professors were actually quite hard on him, he thought a month after beginning the term. They had somehow singled him out, he felt, being more harsh in their critique of him than they were of his fellow students. And one day it nearly broke him.

They were in the middle of their lecture in Studio Painting when his professor walked up to him, glanced at his gouache with disdain, and in front of the whole class asked him to just throw out what Sander had been working on the last week. Stone faced, like a curtain fall over Sander’s eyes, he just stared at his professor. Mr. Mathysen shook his head, fuming at Sander and said “You’re wasting my time!” before focusing on the student next to Sander, commenting “Keep up the good work” at something Sander could have painted as a fourteen year old.

“She could spit in the eyes of fools, as they ask her to focus on...” The lyrics flashed through Sander’s mind as his first reaction as usual was to react outwardly, rip the painting from his easel and dramatically tear it apart before noisily walking out of class, at least making a point in front of the other students that he was above this shit. But he didn’t.

To this day Sander wasn’t really sure what held him back from his normally perfected fight and flight response. It could have been just simple inhibitions - oh yes, he still had those, at least a few - as he had only been at the Academie for a month. Or maybe he was just being in control for once, remembering his therapist’s words about not everything having to turn into an argument, a fight, that it was alright just once in a while to let go, to listen, to not judge on first impulse. Maybe it was because he really liked Mr. Mathysen.

So Sander took a deep breath and instead of making a scene stopped himself from throwing away not only the painting on the easel, but the prospect of him actually connecting with his fellow students and his professor. Waiting for the bell to ring he just passively stood there looking at what he now acknowledged had been a feeble attempt at creating something reminiscent of art.

“Driesen, please stay after class,” Mr. Mathysen yelled when everyone noisily gathered their belongings as the bell rang for lunch break. Sander went cold.

“Do you smoke?” Mr. Mathysen asked him when the others students had left the room. “Cigarettes, Driesen, cigarettes. We’re still on campus. God, I need a cigarette! Come on,” Mr. Mathysen said as he took Sander with him outside.

“You alright?” the professor asked after lighting their cigarettes. Sander just stared at his teacher. What did he want him to say? Hadn’t he just shamed Sander in front of the whole class? And now he casually asked Sander if he was alright? Who was this man? Well, apart from being one of the only professors teaching first years who actually had a career as an artist. And Sander really respected Mr. Mathysen’s work.

“I’m Pieter, by the way,” the professor said. “Look kid, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have chided you in front of the others. That was... yeah, that was just shitty!” He looked up at Sander with an apologetic smile, leaving Sander totally speechless.

“But you really piss me off!” Pieter locked his eyes on Sander. The expression on his face was not one of anger or resentment, as Sander so often had seen, never having known anything else from men in power his whole life, his teachers, his doctors, his father. Malice or purposeful disregard he could deal with. But this? Sander was not used to people smiling kindly at him when they told him, he was an idiot.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Sander said, a bit snappy, not knowing how else to respond. Pieter laughed. It was not the kind of laugh that left Sander feeling uncomfortable, he wasn’t being laughed at. It was a genuine laugh.

“Listen, Ziggy Stardust! Oh, don’t give me that look!” Pieter said seeing Sander’s face. “Do you really think you’re the first rebel to walk through the gates at the Academie? Been there, done that!” The last bit came out as a sigh, making it difficult for Sander to hear.

“Yeah, I know, you don’t want to hear this from someone twice your age, but I’ve been where you are now. And had I gotten my shit together, actually listening to people who knew what they were talking about, I wouldn’t be here now, teaching you lot, when I could make a living out of being an artist.” The hint of sorrow in his professor’s eyes made Sander look at Pieter openly, without prejudice.

“You know, I was on the board this year, judging all the applicants. I’ve seen your full portfolio, kid. So if there’s just a tiny bit of sense left in that rebellious brain of yours, do me a favour! Don’t you fucking dare to throw away the biggest talent we’ve accepted into the Academie for years!”

Sander stared at the shoe laces of his Doc’s. He knew that any trace of colour had left his face. He had no idea how to reply, how to even acknowledge Pieter’s words.

“I won’t let you do that. Not ever! So get used to me being a pain in your ass! And now go and get some lunch, kid. God, I’m starving!” Leaving Sander behind on the bench in the courtyard, he turned around: “And if you ever really, like really, need help, you let me know!”

It was Pieter who had assigned a private studio to Sander as one of the only first year students ever.