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The
young artist with papier
mache elephant
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Growing up, I was an artist wanna be.
I drew all the time and everything, including my dog, the trees,
fences, the kids I babysat for, my grandmother, the bikes, the landscapes
and of course fruit. I was not that good at capturing the person I was
drawing, but a pretty good likeness often did occur.
I painted too and dreamed of taking painting classes with the real
artist across town.
I was finally able to take
up oil painting after I stunned my parents with overexcitement when I
broke my wrist 3 weeks before a piano recital and would not be able to
play. I remember the art
teacher fondly, Mary Bell Busher.
I was only 13 and her youngest student.
Mary Bell was flamboyant,
pretty, smiled a lot and wore a real artist's smock.
She said that you could not be neat and create at the same time.
Oh, I could have died and gone to heaven!!!
Please tell my mother this! We
had easels that stood up, tubes of oil paints, and jars of turpentine,
canvases, and paint everywhere. It
was glorious. We painted birch trees with sponges and knives... everything
but a brush. We painted waves and moons and sandy beaches and chrysanthemums
in pots. And Mary Bell was
everything positive and inspiring.
Again, I was not that
good, but there was something there, if not only desire.
Having been trained by a
real artist, I was anxious and certain to excel in classes as I continued
my art career prep in high school, I banked class after class and took
every form of art I could, including the popular pottery class with the
very hip Miss "J".
Miss "J", her full
name blocked from my mind like a bad dream, had long streaked hair, and
wore faded bell-bottomed hip-hugger blue jeans and t-shirts.
She always had paint on them, which of course impressed me very
much. She was a bit abrupt in
style, but I was willing to trade that for learning the art form.
After we made the
obligatory bowls and learned the coil, wheel, and pinch pot methods it was
time to make a bigger project. I
chose to sculpt a bust of a child.
I began with a sketch and wanted to see if I could do the same in 3
dimensions. I worked during
school and after school and when completed was very proud of my work.
Miss "J", used to say
that there are two stages of
an art project, ah-hah, and oh-oh. You
do not want to get to oh-oh. I
was sure I had reached ah-hah.
It truly looked like the head of a small child, made you smile to
look at the sweetness of it.
Which is exactly why Miss "J" did not like it.
"Trite," she said. I had not even gotten to ah-hah yet, she said.
"Trite". Is it not
good? Does is not look like a
little child? It was
hard to hold back my disappointment.
But, she was optimistic that I could "fix" it in
time to enter it in the exhibit at the art museum that spring.
She said, all I had to do was cut it into puzzle piece parts, paint
them bright colors and reassemble them like a mobil from a stand.
She said it could symbolize the confusion that today's child
faces in the world.
I was aghast, not to mention confused, perhaps I
could see her point.
I
reluctantly did as she suggested. When
complete I hated it, I tried to hold back tears as I handed it in.
I asked for an extension to redo the project.
I had definitely gone way beyond oh-oh.
I told her I did not want to
enter it in the exhibit.
But Miss
"J" thought it was fabulous.
She was not listening, excited I had completed it.
She raved about it though I do not recall a word of what she said.
Three weeks later, I was
informed by Miss "J" that my entry won 2nd place in the
city competition for high school students.
This was a city of over 100,000 people.
I decided I would not go
to the museum and be photographed next to my entry as I had 10 years
earlier in front of my papier-mache balloon and tongue depressor
elephant, in hindsight probably "trite".
I was not exactly sure why I was so resentful of my piece, perhaps
I should be more open-minded, after all, it did win, so somebody liked it.
But, I still decided that I would put the experience in my past and
carry on.
After the sculpture had
its debut at the museum, it was to be sent back to the school. I could not wait to get my hands on it and soak it in water
to see if I could reuse the clay. The
day it was supposed to arrive, I entered the school and was greeted by my
English teacher, with a congratulations on my art project.
I was aghast, as he
stepped aside to show me the blue and red "head mobile" in the middle of the
display case in the front hall of the school with a big blue 2nd
place ribbon on it and a fat lettered sign with my name written as big as
life.
I was mortified. NO!
I Screamed.
It isn't right.
I
suddenly realized why I hated it so much.
It wasn't mine, not the idea or the meaning behind it, or the
tone, nothing.
This should
not have my name on it. Mine
was sweet, innocent, ok. even trite, but not this horrific example of 1970s
lunacy. For one week it sat
in the display case. One day was all it took for me to realize the importance for
standing up for who you are and what you believe in before it is too late.
I threw the ribbon away.
I threw the sculpture away. I
have left what is most important, though. I have
the lesson to strive for and stop at ah-hah, to avoid reaching
oh-oh. That was Miss "J"s lesson for art, but I have come to realize
that it applies to life.
Miss "J" taught me
another lesson for which I am most grateful:
Be judged only by yourself, not by the Miss "J"s that
surround us. My oh-oh,
was not the sculpture; nor was it my ah-hah.
My oh-oh was not standing up for myself, my ah-hah was realizing
the problem and learning from it. To
this day I pass on this lesson to my students.
Be yourself, in art and life.
Aim for ah-hah in both fields.
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