I was recently contemplating ideas for a new painting, and I started to feel sad about a large canvas piece that I once worked on, a long, long time ago. My parents had stored it for me for many years after high school. They kept it in the garage. I visited it often. Usually without thinking much about it. I hadn't touched it in about a decade and a half by the time they asked if they could get rid of it when they moved. I said yes and let it go.
If nothing else, these days I wish I still had that nice big canvas to paint clean and play with. But the story about the painting itself is worth telling, too..
It was a cow.
It was the brown and white close-up cow face. And it was amazing. The canvas was nearly as tall as me. I was proud of the enlargement and the detail. I had used a photograph from a magazine for reference. The cow was sticking out its huge, incredible tongue, and I saw it and felt like–YES! I am going to paint this in a giant way! So I started it in open studio at my high school the summer before my senior year, and it was going really well. I'd never done anything like it before, and I was enjoying myself. I was also enjoying the attention and response of the people sharing my studio space. I believe they were impressed and amused.
Then one day, one of my art teachers came by and asked me what else it was going to be besides a cow. As though my heart couldn't have possibly been all in with this painting of a simple cow and its amazing tongue. It was like a punch to the gut. Rain on my parade. Taking the wind from my sails. I was young, and still mostly wanted to pursue art in my future education. So I did what I thought would be “right,” what I thought my teachers wanted. I added some random stuff around the cow because I couldn't bear to obscure it too much.
And every detail that wasn’t about the cow felt like a lie. It was never right. And I never finished the painting at all. I ended up feeling embarrassed by the whole thing.
One comment. Was it my teacher’s lack of understanding? Lack of awareness of my enthusiasm? Was it ego? Was it even about me or my painting at all? I don’t know.
What I know now, so many years later, is that nothing has to be anything more than exactly what it is. My cow didn’t have to be anything more than a cow. My cow was doing exactly what I needed it to do at that moment and for that season of my life. And a painting of a cow could be a meaningful work of art by being exactly what it was.
Without my teacher or me realizing it, her offhand comment had a big impact. That “what else” comment resulted in me turning away from visual art for a long time.
Over the years, I've revisited visual art in a number of different ways. It saddens me that my teachers (for more than this incident alone) were a huge factor in my decision not to pursue art more vigorously for a good portion of my life. It makes my heart ache for other passionate and enthusiastic students who may have encountered teachers like these on their journeys. Students that got lost and lost their connection to their art. The students that got thrown off of art itself because of what they’re told "should be" in their work. Maybe it’s there but never given a chance to shine through because of someone else’s misdirected influence.
The best instructors and leaders are the ones who see who you are and the work you are doing. Effective guides and mentors are ones who don't just give what they have, they give what you need. I never really felt seen by my high school art teachers, and if there’s one thing that a young artist needs, it’s to be seen.
As an adult, my intention is to do better. Be the one who believes in and cultivates the creative power of everyone, especially young people.
When I create, sometimes the full "meaning" of a piece won't come through until it's well in progress or completely finished. Sometimes the initial intention of a piece evolves into something utterly surprising by the end. That’s part of the pleasure and excitement of creating. The experience I have making art will always be different than the experience someone else has of consuming it. Different people are moved by different types of art, so there’s room for all of it.
Even a cow.
*A version of this post appeared on my Martial Arts & Crafts Facebook page in January 2019.