On the totem of art jobs, the lowest possible spot is teaching little kids. Just ask a secondary art teacher; their position considered the brass ring grabbed while being spun till you can't see straight on the carousel of elementary art. It's the out-of-control babyride you can't get off of unless you jump for your life. What you seem to be good for most days is "loaning" people paper or paint. In most of their minds, that is your job focus. The same people speak to you like you're illiterate. Keep in mind, without the bottom of the totem, everything else would fall down.
(true title: "The Trojan Horse.")
The ebb and flow of the elementary art room can best be explained by the fact you are at the helm of a pirate ship. You hold fast to the wheel, trying to steady your vessel as wave after wave of unleashed primal energy buffets the ship all day long, making you swear a lot (inside) and pray for calm seas at night. Mostly you get knocked down by the shear force of the water. As waves wash up and over your boat, you are sprayed with flotsam and left clinging to the deck for dear life.
Hurry up and find your sealegs; they're not finished with you yet.
(Sorry, but the sea was rough that day.)
Each squall serves to rev up the crew, who is ready and waiting to mutiny with every turn of the tide. or your head. You spend much of the day giving commands to the mates and yelling at them to swab the deck. To maintain anything resembling your course requires every Wile E. Coyote move learned so far away, sitting like a zombie in front of Saturday a.m. cartoons. and they say they aren't educational. Ahoy, you are the commander of the good ship colorforms.
Forget the moon and stars; the natural law of colorforms as applied to your ship: you get a set of shapes, too many, different sizes and kinds. They come in different colors; some match and some don't. Your job is to figure out how to combine them into a totality, making a harmonious composition work together so your ship doesn't sink.
Some stick better to the deck than others; some fall overboard. If you crawl out on the plank too far so they can grab onto you, you lose your balance and then yourself in the drink. A seasoned captain knows from experience how far is too far. You learn to throw them something so they can kick back to ship themselves, Neptune willing.
Some are better left alone with a little space around them and others are better together. How do you know? Trial and error, luck, gut, experience, and maybe your training will help too, but don't count on it.
The sea is vast and too mysterious for anyone to know it all.
and because it ain't about Shirley no more.
1 comment:
Thank you for such a lovely post. I teach art. No one understands, unless they have done it. Beautiful!
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