Annie Neugebauer

Sometimes it feels like when we rave about art – specifically writing, but really all art – we talk about the same things: depth, originality, concept. Writing-specifically: characters, pacing, and prose. And that’s because we love those things. I know I do. They’re certainly worthy of the praise they receive.

But there are other qualities that are equally valuable. Of course, this is all subjective, but (in no specific order, really) I’m going to talk about the top five artistic qualities I wish were more appreciated.

1. Emotional Honesty

I first noticed this in poetry. I began bringing it up a lot in my poetry critique group, as well as to myself while judging various poetry contests. Sometimes the most basic, quiet poem can touch you all the way to your bones, and it feels like you can see into the poet’s soul. Other times you can appreciate the technique and skill in a poem yet feel little on an emotional level – or worse, feel as if you’re being manipulated somehow. There are shades of gray here, but in my experience emotional honesty almost always trumps showboating.

Once I gave this concept a name in my own mind, I started recognizing it everywhere. Flash fiction, short stories, novels. Indeed, I can see it (or see it missing) in movies, sculptures, and even stand-up comedy. And I think, on a most basic level, it’s this emotional honesty that draws us to our very favorite art and artists.

2. Humor

Now there are plenty of artists who appreciate humor. Many of them call themselves comedians, humorists, or satirists. And strangely, for putting this rather rare and valuable quality at the forefront of their work, the artists or art pieces are often deemed lesser than more “serious” works. Why?

No, really. Why?

I think there’s a huge difference between silly and funny. Silly can be great too, but I’m talking about funny. Really, truly, deep-in-your-gut funny is hard to come by, and I wish people would demean that less and appreciate it more as an artistic quality.

3. Simplicity

I love a rich, complex novel. But I also love an elegantly simple poem. And most of all? A deceptively simple premise. And while I have no desire to undermine the work and effort that goes into artistic complexity (did you see my rave about House of Leaves?), I also would love to see well-done simplicity get more praise these days.

Using House of Leaves as the example, I believe that many of the most unique and creative ideas are stunning in their simplicity. An overworked, forced premise might get the job done, but a pared-down premise with a fresh take is so much more appealing.

I like pomp and circumstance as much as the next girl, but I think simplicity is often erroneously thought of as stupidity. In all forms of art, I believe, there is great beauty to be had in the bare bones.

4. Atmosphere

My roots are showing. In gothic fiction, the atmosphere is so rich, so real, so inescapably important that it becomes its own character. That’s why you’ll see so many gothic novels with a place name as the title (Wuthering Heights, The Castle of Otranto, Northanger Abbey). So maybe my love all gothic art has made me especially keen on artists who can weave an unforgettable atmosphere.

Either way, it’s present in many different genres and types of art, and I think it’s one of the first things we sense but one of the last things we notice. And that’s a shame, really, because getting totally sucked into a play or book or painting’s atmosphere to the point that we forget where we are… well, it’s magical. And hard to do, as an artist. Which is why I think it’s underappreciated.

5. Self-Editing

At first, this might seem like a switch. The first four are qualities of the art itself, while this one seems like a quality of the artist, rather than the art. And I suppose, technically, it is. But the result is really what I’m talking about, rather than the skill. I’m going to use the art of fashion design as my example.

Who watches Project Runway? And how many times have we heard the judges tell the designers that they wish they’d edited the styling before sending their look down the runway? Countless. Even if the garment they made is exquisite, cheap accessories – or simply too many accessories – can ruin it. I believe that applies to all art forms.

Part of being an artist is knowing when to stop. Knowing how to self-evaluate what you produce. Deciding which work to put out for public consumption and which to keep to yourself is just as important as creating masterpieces to begin with. A brilliant book is dulled by a bunch of crappy follow-ups, just as a brilliant dress is dulled by a tacky plastic necklace.

I guess what I’m saying is that what’s underappreciated here is the lack of crap. Good artists know when not to show us their work, and sometimes we take that for granted.

~*~

So there you go, five artistic qualities that I think are way underrated. Do you agree? What qualities would you like to add to the list?

I’m home from my little retreat (I got back on Wednesday night). I know some of you are probably curious to hear how it went, so I thought I’d talk about that today.

It was a lovely time. The beach was beautiful. My condo was kind of a hole, which is why it was so cheap, but aside from the one lively roach I had to battle (barefoot!), that didn’t bother me. The view is what mattered, and I had a gorgeous one.

Top left: sunrise from my balcony. Bottom left: from the rocky pier. Right: working on some new freckles.

The first two days I was there, I spent most of my time staring at my computer screen and metaphorically pounding my head against the wall. I came to work on Book X. I felt sure I would explode with inspiration, since that book takes place on the beach and I’d set up my computer to look out at the beach. I’d unplugged completely from the internet and I was alone. No distractions. So why weren’t any words coming?

Literally hours a day were spent getting maybe 2,000 words total. This is really bad for me. Usually when I’m drafting I have a word count minimum of 3k a day. On my last retreat, I wrote 5k every day. And this time I was getting 1k and not even loving it? I planned to be working on what I’m calling in my head “my life’s work.” Instead, I found myself drafting a very early reader called “The Sounds of Pooping.” O__O (Don’t ask.) Needless to say, something was off. More than my sanity, I mean.

Luckily, the hub-a-dub and I planned for him to come stay with me for two nights in the middle of my trip. By the time he got there I was so mad at myself I’d nearly given up. I felt guilty and awful for wasting this trip I felt so lucky to have. Then it occurred to me: I’d been comparing my retreat to my last retreat, in which I was revising an already existing novel. I was writing thousands of words a day because I knew what to write. It was not a retreat of inspiration, but productivity.

I was also comparing my retreat to my past vacations. I came up with the idea for Book 2 on a ride from my hometown, and then Book 3 on a trip to Colorado. On these trips, I didn’t write anything. I just absorbed inspiration like a sponge and let ideas tumble around my head.

What I was trying to do with this retreat was both. I wanted the magical rush of ideas from old vacations, but I also wanted the dedicated productivity of word count from my last retreat. I suddenly felt sure that this was the problem. I couldn’t have both.

So I spent the next two days enjoying the beach with my husband – almost no writing at all. We went to an aquarium, a museum, a couple of restaurants. We had a blast, actually. It was an unexpectedly fun mini-vacation for both of us. When he left, I felt refreshed and less stressed.

Poetry started pouring out of me like blood. I couldn’t have stopped if I tried. I put together a new chapbook. I got two new short story ideas and started them, letting them drop when inspiration turned into work. I decided that, hey, I can work at home. Inspiration is what I really needed. New energy, the tank recharged by solar power. I woke up to see the sunrise every morning. I laid out during the warmest part of the day. I took walks on the beach every night.

I realized that I’d tried to keep my muse on a leash, like I often do at home. But she wanted to play. I wanted to play.

Instead of sitting at my computer and writing new words, I started storyboarding for Book X. Yes, I have Scrivener for this, but it really isn’t the same. I wanted to walk around, gesture, get mumbly. I wanted to pick up my pages, run a thumb over the words, fucking roll in it.

There’s a quote by Tom Gauld: “I love using the computer but I try to stay away from it till I’ve done most of the thinking for an idea, looked at it from all sides, because I feel that once the computer is involved things are on an inevitable path to being finished. Whereas in my sketchbook the possibilities are endless.” Yes. That’s what I had been feeling.

I didn’t use my computer much after that. Just notepads, pens, sticky notes, sand, sun, and gray matter.

This WIP isn’t ready to be drafted yet. I don’t want it to be on the “inevitable path to being finished.” It has always been my “background project,” the one I come back to when I feel inspired. I was hoping that maybe over the past 6 years I’d gained enough to piece it together, but I haven’t. And this WIP means too much to me to force it. So instead, I relinquished the reins and played. And the rest of my trip was sort of magical.

The muse, after all, has wings; every once in a while you’ve got to take off the leash and let her use them.