| THE EPISTOLARIAN |
What age were you when you were told you aren’t an artist?
This question was an icebreaker at the retreat that I did a couple weeks ago in Ojai, California with Dr. Jennifer Freed.
Each woman answered around the room. Most had been quite young 6 or 7 years old. A couple of us were older, 14 or 15.
I remember my moment vividly. In my freshman year of boarding school, I proudly turned in my art homework, a small canvas, a still life of my ski boots. I didn’t consider it a masterpiece, but the joy I felt creating it was enough to convince me that my teacher would see my promise as artist too.
She didn’t.
The feedback to my work so mild that I can’t remember any constructive coaching, though I imagine there was some. I do remember, however, other students she saw as “true” artists.
Though I don’t think teachers or parents intent to stomp out the artist in children, the narrow misunderstanding of what an artist can be allows us to neglect the creative capacity in us all, and thus also fails to nurture a rich artistic life.
Yet, the artist is central to our nature as humans. Even surgeons are masterful artists of sorts, with fine motor skills and creative problem solving.
We allow much more time for other vocations…. We understand the importance of allowing medical students YEARS of training before we evaluate their capacity as doctors.
Why is it we insist people look like “artists” before we allow them to become them?
What age were you told you weren’t an artist? What age did you believe you’re not an artist? Do you believe it still?
Se rejoindre ou mourir (will join or die)The motif of a severed snake first appeared in 1685 with the same inscription as this seal: “se rejoindre ou mourir” (will join or die). The message a clear. A snake that is cut in two cannot survive. The idea of a severed snake has been used in a variety of contexts. Perhaps most notably, it was used during the American revolution to symbolize the unity of the colonies. A nation broken into colonies can not survive. They needed to unite. I like thinking about this motif from the perspective of an artists. When did we sever the artistic part of ourselves? How can we have it "rejoin" so that we truly live? |
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a letter to your younger artist...
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I recommend writing a letter to that yourself at the age you started to believe you weren't an artist!
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a poem by me to read aloud to yourself:
The shipwright's wrong
Trees grow in the way they ought to grow:
lumpy knots, inconvenient branch heights,
asymmetry for a balance
that appears unbalanced to an untrained eye.
The way a tree bends matters,
in and of itself.
Shipwrights with
their virtuous plan
use lathes, clamps,
pure pressure of molds,
and lots of time to cure,
in the end, sanding “their creation”
just right, in hopes
it floats.
If trees wished to float, they’d be logs,
and logs are dead, as are boats.
All that mending from slaughter,
training to eschew.
It takes a long time in water
to unbend your canoe.
With love,