My early days as an artist were very preachy. I drew pictures of the Vietnam War and such. I forced symbolism and layers of meaning upon simple drawings.
One of my most liberating art classes happened at Montgomery College in Maryland. Watercolor 101. In this class I learned about pre-planning the color applications (generally dark colors last) and about letting my brush strokes be swift, simple and strong. Watercolor is perfect for people who are overly controlling. Once you take a saturated brush to a lightly dampened page and see the tendrils of pigment shoot, you just have to stand back and marvel. Don't touch it too much. Let it do its thing.
One day in class our teacher had us paint the portrait of the person to the left of us. The lady to my left was a very talented and refined painter. I held great respect for her work. She was a petite asian woman with glossy black hair. Since art class generally is messy, we didn't dress up. We often wore old clothes or smocks. And for some reason this dear lady who I admired didn't tend to brush her hair either. It was the 1990s so grunge was in trend anyway. So that day in class, I painted a portrait of her which very closely resembled her. It was a profile painting, which is generally easier to do for me, because the outline of the face is strong and clear. I was so caught up in the flow of the painting process, that I painted her hair exactly as disheveled as it was.
After class two things happened. First, my model looked very unhappy. She left quietly. And secondly, my teacher approached me with what can only be described as a split expression. She could tell that I had hurt this person's feelings. At the same time, the art produced was aesthetically pretty good. I remember the ache in her face as she struggled to convey this.
The next class the lady brushed her hair. And ever after. I felt sad that I made her feel so badly.
In this same class there was a lady studying art therapy. After each class project, the students hung their art at the front of the class and we took turns critiquing each other. This process was very helpful to see where we could improve and where we were strong. At nearly every critique session, this particular student looked absolutely paralyzed. Sometimes her paper was nearly blank and she would introduce her painting by saying, "I WAS going to put a tree here..." and then she would look at us expectantly and trail off. The process was always so disappointing.
I think that if we look at art the same way we look at making dinner, then we would see that people simply want to eat something. They don't need something fancy all the time. Just food. And sometimes the most simple of meals proves to be the most memorable of all. Sometimes dinner flops and you order pizza. But the point is: You don't give up on eating. You still need to eat. You still need to make dinner and try. At least put something on the plate. With any luck, you'll start to make food with more consistency and flair to the point where you won't even need a cookbook anymore. But make something. Anything. We need to eat.
It seems to me that art is less about color and brush and medium and firing and casting and more about showing up again and again and choosing the right story to tell. More about the time we allocate to composing an image. More about what we don't say rather than what we do say. And sometimes art offends. Generally I find that art simply wants to draw out a truth and offer it for contemplation. The truth could be as simple as, "Have you seen this color? Isn't it amazing how it interacts with its neighbor?"
I'm never offended when people say, "Well, I could do that" upon seeing a piece of art. The reasons for this are threefold:
1. I'm glad. That means the art was edited well. A lot of strong art looks accessible and easy to reproduce.
2. It means others might join the chorus. Great. Engage your creative side! Let's all respond to this magnificence called life.
3. Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you have the time or heart or patience for it longterm. By the argument that "I could do that," we would all be expected to do all the professions and that just won't work for me. I don't see myself being a teacher anytime soon. I respect people who do it, however.
I have spent a lot of my life trying to quiet my artistic side. Tone it down. I went into marketing and branding. It's a fun line of work for artists. It pays bills for making pretty pictures and telling stories. Hopefully true stories. :)
But there's still a part of me that longs for my own voice where no one else is saying, "Be this. Say this." And for that, I'm thankful that I can take a few simple tools and put together shapes and colors and textures. So thankful.
I'm hoping to expand my designs, but I'm not in any hurry. The wise Elizabeth Gilbert was quoted in an interview as saying that she told her art something to the effect of, "Listen, I don't need you to support me. I will support you. I will wait tables or whatever it is so that you can exist." And some might say that her art is purer and fresher for it because Elizabeth wasn't burdening her artistic endeavors to bring food to the table.
Maybe so.
As I approach the five year mark of making calendars, I marvel at how many people said, "Hey, that's fun! I want that in my life." They let me have a little voice, a side of their kitchen cabinet or a section of their cubicle to say, "Hey, this is worth noting."
I sketched and reflected and edited and tossed and then people bought images of the result of this process. That amazes me. Art is like buying a piece of meditation. What a gift to have people speak into each other's lives.
What a gift, art.
What a gift, people.
What a gift, life.
