*This content was translated by AI.
Director Na Hong-jin’s new film "Hope" has been released, and the internet continues to burn with discussion day after day.
Audiences leaving theaters gather in small groups to continue discussing the film, while online communities are flooded with reviews that sharply divide between praise and harsh criticism. This is because there was great anticipation for it as a new work 10 years after "The Wailing." However, regardless of personal preference, the fact that a single film refuses to leave the minds of audiences is a tremendous achievement for any creator.
Suddenly, amidst a string of thoughts, I find myself asking: "Why do people evaluate others’ creative works so passionately, and sometimes even become angry as if it were their own business?"
The public’s reaction is far too intense to be explained by simple supply-and-demand logic. In the case of products, if you don’t like them, you simply don’t buy them, but criticism directed at art transcends a consumer stance. I feel this phenomenon resembles "retail investment by minority shareholders."
The public viewing a work does not remain merely as a first-person or third-person observer. They regard the work as a second-person dialogue partner ("You") and position themselves as psychological co-creators. Not everyone can actually make movies or write songs. However, the desire to create exists within many people. While I cannot directly compose and sing a song myself, there is a longing to participate in creation through the act of appreciation. Evaluation appears to be the safest form of expression for suppressed creative desires.
Watching this harsh yet fiery arena of evaluation surrounding a single film, my gaze naturally turns toward my students. These are students between the average ages of 18 and 22 whom I encounter—students who have not yet experienced the cold gaze of the world or its fierce breath.
As a trainer who equips singers with technical skills, shouldn’t we equip these young artists with functions beyond vocals before sending them into the jungle known as the field? The moment new artists step onto the field, they will face a cold world. Amidst excessive praise, unjustified malicious comments, or being treated as "invisible people" by being objectified in the third person, their "blood," "sweat," and "tears"—efforts painstakingly made to prepare for debut—can vanish like soap bubbles into indifference.
As artists navigate the field, they often encounter phrases that circulate under the guise of advice: "A comment-less post is worse than a malicious comment." Noise-based viral marketing can be effective. "Even if something good happens, do not rejoice; even if something sad occurs, do not be shaken. Only then will you endure long in the field."
However, I feel deep skepticism toward these common notions of the field. Art is fundamentally a domain that deals with emotions. Artists are precisely those whose emotional sensitivity to good and bad events is maximized—those who rejoice at good things and grieve over bad ones. Training oneself to turn off the emotional switch in order to become indifferent to public evaluation and malicious comments is dangerous. The switch pulled to protect one’s mental state may inadvertently also disconnect the emotional switch for music itself. If an artist becomes insensitive to others’ evaluations to the point of dulling their own emotional expression in song, it is no different from "The Little Mermaid’s tragedy," where one gains legs but loses their voice.
So, what kind of mental muscles should artists facing the field prepare?
First and foremost, there is a need for filtering training that clearly distinguishes between what can be controlled and what cannot.
Others’ reactions are not within my domain, but my attitude toward them remains entirely within my control. This includes maintaining composure so as not to be intoxicated by the momentary dopamine from excessive praise, and securing a "safe zone" such as family or friends to return to when it feels like everyone in the world is a malicious commenter. Large agencies may train this through systems, but individual creators must build their own emotional safety mechanisms to endure long in the field.
The sea of evaluation poured out by the public will never become calm in the future. The rough waves of others’ gazes sometimes shake an artist’s soul entirely. Yet, paradoxically, that harsh criticism is also proof of the public’s fiery desire to engage deeply with that creative work. Therefore, the trials and wounds encountered on the front lines are not poisons to be avoided indiscriminately but become the most precious materials for creating the depth of the next song.
We cannot stop the cold evaluation thrown by the public itself. However, artists must ensure their entire selves are not engulfed by those emotions. Opening the floodgates to let those emotions pass naturally. The flexibility to protect one’s own emotions amidst the noise of evaluation and even transform those wounds into art—that is the most powerful weapon I wish to place firmly in the hands of the children heading into the field.
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*This content was translated by AI.
