When I was getting my feet wet as a journalist, freshly dropped out of grad school in the early 1970s, I naturally gravitated toward literary criticism as that was all I had any formal training in. For the Santa Cruz Independent I wrote book reviews and reports on events like readings in hopes of making the works of writers, local and otherwise, newsworthy. It was much more fun, I found, writing for a nonspecialist readership than for academics, and I accordingly learned to loosen up and speak more breezily of what I was reading, witnessing and thinking.

Criticism, contrary to common usage, is not fault-finding but more truly a sharing of appreciation and enthusiasm — which sometimes also means calling attention to perceived weaknesses. In writing about local poets and poetry I had to occasionally, at times, call out what I saw as fraudulent claims to profundity. The Independent received plenty of angry letters protesting my failure to support my fellow poets and the poetry community. But I was defending poetry.

I’ve always felt that writing critically and appreciatively of the arts in a public forum — even if, especially if, against the grain of conventional wisdom — is a service to both the artists and the public, and that, as the poet Michael McClure once said, “There’s no such thing as a bad review.” As most poets get no attention whatsoever for their work (“whole books disappear without a sound, as if dropped into a void,” Lawrence Ferlinghetti once wrote to me), I feel that taking someone seriously enough to consider them worthy of criticism is an act of professional respect.

Unfriendly reviews and indignant, sometimes insulting letters to the editor, both of which I’ve received my share of, are part of the game when you put your work out there; you can’t control how people read it or what they’ll make of it. Differences of opinion, especially in the press, are integral to the democratic process. Dialogue and debate in and about the arts are a sign of cultural vitality. Praise simply for the sake of “support” is patronizing to the artist. A candid critical response, even privately from a friend, makes sincere praise, when it comes, more credible than empty compliments.

I’m thinking about criticism and the value of authentic evaluation after reading a provocative blog post by my longtime friend, sometime colleague and occasional co-conspirator or adversary Christina Waters titled, “On the nurturing of low-grade creativity” (christinawaters.com | Radical Adventures in the Real World). Waters, a veteran arts writer for Santa Cruz papers dating back to the Independent, argues that reflexive praise has become inflated in an arts community as relatively intimate as Santa Cruz; that mediocrity is often celebrated in a way that debases the arts.

The first comment in response to the post is from a reader complaining about the standing ovation as another symptom if this phenomenon — a default eruption of audience enthusiasm following far too many performances, which is meaningless when not reserved for something truly extraordinary.

Waters’s candid and courageous admonition to “stop supporting the arts” reminded me of my reply to a well-meaning acquaintance who offered to support me by attending a reading: “If I want support, I’ll get a jockstrap.” I hope people show up at an event or read a book of mine to enjoy it; I can live without the condescension of “support.”

An astute critic who offers cogent insight supports the artist and the art by respecting them enough to be honest. Artists who feel the need to create will not be discouraged by criticism; the work is its own reward. And often enough a critical perspective is an important contribution to one’s creative development by showing where there’s room for improvement. As Samuel Beckett famously wrote, “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

Stephen Kessler’s column appears on Saturdays.