As a senior in college I was poised to be the first member of my family to graduate in fours years from the same institution matriculated as a freshman. Every now and then I like to surprise with the fam with a little razzle-dazzle. As proud as they were, I have to admit that I pulled it off by the skin of my teeth. I took two accelerated schedule courses (Micro & Macro Economics— at the same time) over the summer and added an extra credit during my final semester. But for the evil Chem 010 (the first zero in the course # stood for how much interest I had in the subject), I had a wide berth in making up the remainder of my schedule. There was a definite creative bent to my choices:
• With the guidance of a generous mentor, my work study job from the semester became into a credited internship. Post-graduation this morphed further into my first “real” job.
• A directed reading on the subject of gender and discourse with one of my favorite professors
• Intro to Photography (where I learned a great many things… not the least of which was that I am, in fact, allergic to fixer)
• Visual Design (or something like that) – A painting course held at the school of continuing education focused on exploring how line, form and color are used to express and evoke distinct concepts or moods.
The last of which was the biggest stretch. Prior to this, experience with creating anything using own hands (as opposed to???) was limited to the following:
• Coloring books – consistently straying outside of the lines
• Watercolor books – I was the Gutenberg of this particular medium. I filled the bathtub with a shallow pool of water, briefly submerged the pre-colored sheets and hung them to dry on the towel rack. This is likely more indicative of an emerging talent for streamlining workflow than creative prowess.
• Doodling – I have the God-given ability to draw a squirrel holding an acorn. It is a special kind of cute. I also sometimes sign notes with a curly-haired smiley face.
• Mrs. Murphy’s art lessons in grade school. Once a week she entered homeroom, wheeling a cart stocked with paints, markers, glue, construction paper and bottomless supply of critical comments for the less promising students in the class. Let’s put it this way: I was never sent home with a note to my parents about how she was concerned that my ear wasn’t gonna stay attached to my head.
You may be able to infer from negative experiences in your own formative years that this made taking a painting class more than a little challenging. (I’ll save the trauma of gym class for now. One day that book will jump up straight out of my chest and write itself.) Showing others bits of my creative expression soemthing I am very tentative about. Still working on that… but back then? Forget about it.
I’m not sure how came to to see that for the limitation it was at age 21. Allowing myself to be uncomfortable was the master plan in selecting planning that semester’s studies. Most weeks it was pure torture having two classes based entirely on creating things on assignment instead waiting for divine inspiration. The next step was equally taxing: suppressing the temptation to shove the damned whatever-it-was into the back of a drawer instead of bringing it to class and <gasp> SHOWING it.
That’s actually why I did it: to push myself into pursuing something I found compelling yet simultaneously scared me shitless. It’s the same thing that drives me to write here instead of the privacy of my own journal. When I’m not writing or completing pieces, it’s that same rationale applied in reverse. Instead of being a catalyst for action and expression fear serves to paralyze any and all forward motion.
On towards my point… the instructor of the painting course I took in college was of similar mind as Mrs. Murphy about my artistic potential. Granted, she didn’t sneak up behind me spook me with an un-enthused “Hmmmph” like her predecessor. Each one of the assignments was handed back with a paragraph or two of notes skirting around the crux of the message, “This sucks.”
It’s not that I didn’t see her points. However, I don’t have aspirations of being a painter. Both ears are firmly attached and that’s how they shall stay. (Though I would be able to wear mateless earrings again if I went down that road…)
Chances are that I took the comments more to heart than I should’ve. I do that with lots of things so it’s entirely likely. When I can remember where I stashed the original of the above painting, it’d be interesting to see if those words were what I remember them to be.
Now that I’m further down the road of sorting out my own professional ambitions, I can empathize with those two teachers. I’m sure that they had/have their own ambitions and disappointments that would make teaching anyone other than a prodigy feel tedious. I am going to further increase my range and demonstrate that I can switch my default setting from ‘cynical’ to ‘unicorns, rainbows and warm woolen kittens’.
In closing, I’d like to share the following points from my ‘one to grow on’ file. Ultimately, what these two women thought is irrelevant. The point here is putting oneself out there without apology. Believing that anything I express has intrinsic value as a part of my own experience, regardless of interpretation, is the essence of freedom. Most days I’m pretty far off the mark, but I am hopeful that I’ll get there someday. Preferrably soon.
In the vein of half-full glasses:
• I really had fun with Mrs. Murphy’s apple-head doll project in 3rd grade. It was cool to see those carved, peeled fresh apples turned into smushy old man faces after sitting in the janitors closet for a few weeks. To my recollection, she did not say anything bad about my moldy apple masterpiece.
• That college instructor broadened my horizons and exposed me to artists that I would not have otherwise seen. The Worcester Art Museum mounted one of those a wack-a-doo esoteric post modern exhibitions using food stuffs and we took a field trip that week to attend. It was a room full of trunk freezers. One was filled with fish eggs, another had some sort of horror movie sized fish. My favorite was the freezer filled with Kool-aid. The block of punch leaked across the floor though I’m pretty sure that was an unforseen equipment malfunction and not a part of the gimmick. I seriously doubted her judgement as to what should qualify as an ‘educational experience’.
After viewing the exhibit, there was a lecture given by Sandy Skoglund – an off-beat installation artist whose pieces use mass quantities of items found in your pantry. The slides shown as part of the presentation had such a striking visual impact that I remember them to this day, 11 years later. I look forward to seeing her work in person when there is museum exhibit in my area.
Tags: first member, instructor, Misty Watercolor Memories As, Murphy, off-beat installation artist, painter, Sandy Skoglund, That college instructor, wack-a-doo esoteric post modern exhibitions using food stuffs, Worcester Art Museum
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