Junior Year
As I begin what I call my junior year of art education, I think it's important to reflect on some lessons learned over the last two + years.
My first art class was many years ago (15+ at least!) at Spruill Art Center. That first class was a true ego crusher. The instructor put a rotary phone in front of us and told us to draw it. All of those curls on the cord made my head explode. I didn't even know where to start, so I quit because I figured I just didn't have the talent to do it. You're born with it, right?
Wrong. Flash forward to 2013 when Scott and I took a weekend-long abstract class at Binder's because we needed art for our new house. We cranked out 8-10 hideous abstract paintings and had a blast. We knew the art was terrible, but we had fun, so we went back. This time to Carolyn Rose for experimental drawing. That's where the real learning began.
We drew upside down, we drew with sticks, we blindly reached into bags and drew what we touched. It was wacky and fun and cool and strangely enough, the art was MUCH better. I think we took two or three classes with "Aunt Carolyn," and then, as these things go in the community art education world, it was over.
This cycle of getting attached to an art instructor, only to have them leave is, sadly, common. Finding a decent community art instructor is like finding a unicorn. Most of the teachers don't really teach. They're glorified babysitters for adults who want to be entertained. And truthfully, most of the students don't want to be taught. They want to play in paint for a few hours.
But I wanted an education. I wasn't about to pay tens of thousands of dollars to go to SCAD, and I'm not old enough to go back to school for free (but I'm counting the days 'til I can).
So here I am, 50 years old, trying to learn something new, trying to become an artist. What do you do? How do you do it?
In January 2017 I took it seriously. I signed up for Ben Smith's figure drawing class at Chastain Arts Center, where Ben told me, "You draw like a child." So let's start with lesson #1 --
1. You're going to probably suck at this for a while, so you'd better develop some thick skin.
2. Trial and error. Lots of trials and even more errors. It'll make you want to quit. It will make you want to give up. And you're going to meet a lot of really nice people along the way, and the majority of them won't make it. You better be stubborn. You better be patient. You better have some money stashed away for all of the mistakes and crumpled up paper and bad experiments and bad workshops and bad instructors. And I haven't even talked about all of the really bad art you're going to make.
I'm not kidding when I say, you'll have every reason in the world to quit. But please don't.
Here are some more lessons learned from the past two years:
3. DIF: drawing is fundamental. Good paint can't fix bad drawing. Get the book "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain." That's the best book I've found on how to draw. Draw upside down. Draw something every day. Learn foreshortening. Foreshortening is a bitch. I'm telling you, it gets even the best artist. Draw glasses and bottles and vases. The female form is everywhere - Coca Cola bottles, cars, etc.
4. Find an art center. Atlanta Artists Center is everything. During the week they offer models who pose during the week, some clothed, some nude. This is the very best way to learn how to draw. Get a newsprint pad and some vine charcoal and go draw. Walk around the room and watch other people draw. Trust me, it's worth the $10 studio fee to watch a skilled artist draw from life. If that's all you do, you'll learn something.
Studio time, opportunities to participate in shows, show your work, learn how galleries work, a safe place, a place to paint so you don't have to paint alone.
5. Find a workshop. This gets tricky because there are so many bad workshops out there, but talk to your artist center friends and ask them for recommendations.
6. What do you want to draw/paint? If you don't have the immediate answer to this, you need to experiment until you find it. You may enjoy many things, and that's okay too. But here's the thing - no matter what you draw or paint, you'll learn something that will transfer to the next subject. Lines of the body are like lines of a car. Lines of a landscape, curves of the surf and sand, etc.
7. What's your medium? Again if you don't know the answer, try them all. I began in acrylic, painted in acrylic for 2+ years, then moved to oil. There is no medium that's better or more professional than another. Don't let anyone tell you any different.
8. What do you want to say with your art? This is one of those 30,000 feet questions, and don't freak out if you don't know. I still don't know the answer. It's like when you start college and everyone wants to know your major and you want to scream, I DON"T KNOW YET. Or when you're a senior and about to graduate and everyone asks, now what? And you want to scream I DON"T KNOW YET. It's okay to not know. Just keep swinging, keep painting, keep drawing until you do know.
9. Paint or draw something every damn day. It can be your toothbrush, your dog, a bottle of water. It can be a squiggly abstract. As Nike says, "Just do it."
10. Go to museums and art galleries and look slowly and carefully. Pay attention to brush strokes, compositions, paint quality (does the paint look good enough to eat?), ask yourself "Why is that in a museum?"
11. Copy the masters. If you want to paint like John Singer Sargent, paint Sargents, or even sections of a Sargent.
12. Keep or photograph your work along the way. It's the best measure of progress. You won't recognize your improvements from day to day, but wait 6 to 8 months, then go back and look at what you were painting. That's when you'll see improvements and get excited.
13. Show your work. Even if it sucks. There are two schools of thought on this, but I think it's important to practice putting yourself out there, as uncomfortable as it may be (for me at least).
14. Call yourself an artist. It might feel weird and awkward, but I think you fake it until you make it. Ask Fahamu Pecou about it. He created his own hashtag #fahamupecouistheshit , and that's waaay before he made it big.
These are starting points. Honestly, I haven't figured out half of these, but I'm working on it. I read a blog post today that hit me. I'm paraphrasing, but it goes something like this:
If money is the indication of success, I am not a successful artist. I make less than minimum wage, and I'm not famous. So what is the value of my art? Who cares!! Here's what matters: my art gives me a voice in this crazy, nutty world. Art is my outlet, my therapy and my happiness. It gives me a sense of peace and presence, and while I want others to enjoy it, too, someone else's enjoyment is icing on the cake.
I still have some soul searching to do. Lots of questions to be answered and many more really bad paintings yet to be painted. I need to be not so hard on myself and remember to have fun.
My first art class was many years ago (15+ at least!) at Spruill Art Center. That first class was a true ego crusher. The instructor put a rotary phone in front of us and told us to draw it. All of those curls on the cord made my head explode. I didn't even know where to start, so I quit because I figured I just didn't have the talent to do it. You're born with it, right?
Wrong. Flash forward to 2013 when Scott and I took a weekend-long abstract class at Binder's because we needed art for our new house. We cranked out 8-10 hideous abstract paintings and had a blast. We knew the art was terrible, but we had fun, so we went back. This time to Carolyn Rose for experimental drawing. That's where the real learning began.
We drew upside down, we drew with sticks, we blindly reached into bags and drew what we touched. It was wacky and fun and cool and strangely enough, the art was MUCH better. I think we took two or three classes with "Aunt Carolyn," and then, as these things go in the community art education world, it was over.
This cycle of getting attached to an art instructor, only to have them leave is, sadly, common. Finding a decent community art instructor is like finding a unicorn. Most of the teachers don't really teach. They're glorified babysitters for adults who want to be entertained. And truthfully, most of the students don't want to be taught. They want to play in paint for a few hours.
But I wanted an education. I wasn't about to pay tens of thousands of dollars to go to SCAD, and I'm not old enough to go back to school for free (but I'm counting the days 'til I can).
So here I am, 50 years old, trying to learn something new, trying to become an artist. What do you do? How do you do it?
In January 2017 I took it seriously. I signed up for Ben Smith's figure drawing class at Chastain Arts Center, where Ben told me, "You draw like a child." So let's start with lesson #1 --
1. You're going to probably suck at this for a while, so you'd better develop some thick skin.
2. Trial and error. Lots of trials and even more errors. It'll make you want to quit. It will make you want to give up. And you're going to meet a lot of really nice people along the way, and the majority of them won't make it. You better be stubborn. You better be patient. You better have some money stashed away for all of the mistakes and crumpled up paper and bad experiments and bad workshops and bad instructors. And I haven't even talked about all of the really bad art you're going to make.
I'm not kidding when I say, you'll have every reason in the world to quit. But please don't.
Here are some more lessons learned from the past two years:
3. DIF: drawing is fundamental. Good paint can't fix bad drawing. Get the book "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain." That's the best book I've found on how to draw. Draw upside down. Draw something every day. Learn foreshortening. Foreshortening is a bitch. I'm telling you, it gets even the best artist. Draw glasses and bottles and vases. The female form is everywhere - Coca Cola bottles, cars, etc.
4. Find an art center. Atlanta Artists Center is everything. During the week they offer models who pose during the week, some clothed, some nude. This is the very best way to learn how to draw. Get a newsprint pad and some vine charcoal and go draw. Walk around the room and watch other people draw. Trust me, it's worth the $10 studio fee to watch a skilled artist draw from life. If that's all you do, you'll learn something.
Studio time, opportunities to participate in shows, show your work, learn how galleries work, a safe place, a place to paint so you don't have to paint alone.
5. Find a workshop. This gets tricky because there are so many bad workshops out there, but talk to your artist center friends and ask them for recommendations.
6. What do you want to draw/paint? If you don't have the immediate answer to this, you need to experiment until you find it. You may enjoy many things, and that's okay too. But here's the thing - no matter what you draw or paint, you'll learn something that will transfer to the next subject. Lines of the body are like lines of a car. Lines of a landscape, curves of the surf and sand, etc.
7. What's your medium? Again if you don't know the answer, try them all. I began in acrylic, painted in acrylic for 2+ years, then moved to oil. There is no medium that's better or more professional than another. Don't let anyone tell you any different.
8. What do you want to say with your art? This is one of those 30,000 feet questions, and don't freak out if you don't know. I still don't know the answer. It's like when you start college and everyone wants to know your major and you want to scream, I DON"T KNOW YET. Or when you're a senior and about to graduate and everyone asks, now what? And you want to scream I DON"T KNOW YET. It's okay to not know. Just keep swinging, keep painting, keep drawing until you do know.
9. Paint or draw something every damn day. It can be your toothbrush, your dog, a bottle of water. It can be a squiggly abstract. As Nike says, "Just do it."
10. Go to museums and art galleries and look slowly and carefully. Pay attention to brush strokes, compositions, paint quality (does the paint look good enough to eat?), ask yourself "Why is that in a museum?"
11. Copy the masters. If you want to paint like John Singer Sargent, paint Sargents, or even sections of a Sargent.
12. Keep or photograph your work along the way. It's the best measure of progress. You won't recognize your improvements from day to day, but wait 6 to 8 months, then go back and look at what you were painting. That's when you'll see improvements and get excited.
13. Show your work. Even if it sucks. There are two schools of thought on this, but I think it's important to practice putting yourself out there, as uncomfortable as it may be (for me at least).
14. Call yourself an artist. It might feel weird and awkward, but I think you fake it until you make it. Ask Fahamu Pecou about it. He created his own hashtag #fahamupecouistheshit , and that's waaay before he made it big.
These are starting points. Honestly, I haven't figured out half of these, but I'm working on it. I read a blog post today that hit me. I'm paraphrasing, but it goes something like this:
If money is the indication of success, I am not a successful artist. I make less than minimum wage, and I'm not famous. So what is the value of my art? Who cares!! Here's what matters: my art gives me a voice in this crazy, nutty world. Art is my outlet, my therapy and my happiness. It gives me a sense of peace and presence, and while I want others to enjoy it, too, someone else's enjoyment is icing on the cake.
I still have some soul searching to do. Lots of questions to be answered and many more really bad paintings yet to be painted. I need to be not so hard on myself and remember to have fun.
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