An art history lesson

I've read that the act of creation can have real empathetic roots. I think that's because we have to think about who we are creating something for, and what they would want. Perhaps we're trying to give them what they want. Perhaps we're trying to do the exact opposite.

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I was very lucky growing up - I was able to attend a specialized high school for the arts. I was a visual arts major - which meant that each year I took at least two classes alongside my regular academics. I would come in to school and paint, draw, sculpt, glue, sew or otherwise try to represent the things placed in front of me.

One year I took oil painting. We had a routine - first set up your station, pour the turpentine, squeeze out your paints on your palette, pick your subject (or use a subject already set up from the previous class) and paint. I loved the process of painting. I would squint at each form and shadow and see colors that I didn't see before - yellow in the reds, blue in the browns, and lots and lots of greens. As I moved my brush I moved my colors around the picture like I was decorating a cake; I wanted each bite to have a bit of purple, a taste of orange. I wanted the viewer's eyes to follow the trails of hue around the image.

One day, the teacher came over and said to me, "What is that, that spot of blue there?" I said, "It's right there, in the shadow of the apple, see?" She looked at the apple, then at me. She said, "You can't make stuff up - that's not what this class is about. You have to paint what you see. You are training your eyes and hands. Learn how to paint what you see first." She walked away.

I remember feeling mad. I was going to paint WHAT I wanted - and if she didn't like what I painted because she couldn't see the colors I could see, then I would just have to paint something she couldn't see. For my next subject, I looked out the window. While everyone else painted the still life on the table (an arrangement of plastic fruit, broken instruments and drapery) I painted the cars on the sidewalk four stories below. While everyone else painted a lamp, I painted the forest and highway a few miles away across the river. The next time she came around and asked me what I was painting, I told her. She just looked and nodded and walked away.

I wonder if creativity for me is not so much about empathy - and more about stubbornness. :)

Have you created anything lately?

Janet

Is an artist an expert? A discussion of High School and Drums

I've spent time trying to become an expert, and I really enjoy the feeling. In high school I wanted to become a drummer. I took the only lessons I could find, at a local music school, from a fantastic guy. His first lesson to me was 'forget Ringo, you need to listen to Steely Dan'. He taught me how to hold a stick, and how to listen to the drummer and not just the singer, he taught me how a drummer is supposed to be. I learned respect for the craft from him, and no matter where I go if I see a drummer playing I give him my full attention as a result of the time he spent teaching me.

I remember one day I was waiting for my lesson to start, and I had been sitting outside, tapping my left foot for half an hour. Just tapping, trying to build up my calf muscle so I could play the high-hat really, really well. A weak left foot means a weak sounding k-TSHHHH and I wanted it to be STRONG.

I had practice pads at home and a drumkit, but I couldn't play my drums at home because it bothered the neighbors. Something about living in an apartment building made it impossible no matter how many pillows I stuffed into the bass drum. So instead, I hoofed downtown to a practice space that was mostly used by the local bands. My memory of the place is a little hazy but I do recall that there wasn't really a bathroom so much as a urinal in the hallway. Yeah, eeew.

I paid a few dollars to the scummy guy at the counter to use the drumkit in one of the rooms (always a piece of junk, but at least it was LOUD) for an hour. The rooms were supposed to be soundproof, but when I wasn't pretending to be Larry Mullen, Jr. I could hear the metalheads banging away next door and the In-Living-Color wannabees around the corner. It was really, really great, and totally worth the time. I closed that door and I was a rockstar!

After a time (a year or so, I think) I stopped lessons with the music school, and started taking a class from a guy at NYU. He was really focused on technique, and we worked quite a bit on reading music and jazz drumming. One time he took me to the Bitter End to see him and his friend's band play. It was a great, great night full of weepy bluesy singing and loud times. And amps. Big, big amps.

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I really wanted to be good, I really wanted to be in a band. My first band was a group of girls that liked to play Deep Purple and compare each other's bra sizes. We called ourselves Crimson Tempest (yeah, Steely Dan influence). Oh and I was the small one, comparatively. :) We played a few practices together and sang and had fun. That was all until they kicked me out - I'm sure I deserved it since I've blocked the memory of why they did.

I was in another band (the Keys) with some close friends, and we really had a great time but mostly spent time writing songs. I still have them locked away in a box, friends! I can get them out anytime you want!

I tell myself that one day I'll play drums again. We'll see. I think I was close to being a really good drummer, and one day I'd like to be there again.

Have you ever gotten really good at something? Did you consider yourself an artist, or an expert?