I (stupidly) opted to study art for three and a bit years of my educational life. Whilst a controversial view (you got an A* you talented bitch get over it) I despised every waking second of my artistic studies before bowing out ungracefully two weeks in to AS in favour of an essay based Classics course that suited my tendency to ramble (and a holiday) very well. You see I was never the kind to be boxed, even in essays I could digress so exceptionally and that was something you could not do, shockingly, in art.
I recall so clearly our first ever art lesson circa Year 9. I had recently moved up into what the American's would call 'High School' from the awkward phase of 'Middle School' to a building with a glorious mismatched serious of art studios connected by secret doorways and to top it off, a towering staircase leading to our own private zen area for quiet painting away from the rambunctious scamps who couldn't wait to drop the damn subject for GCSE. I, a naive young thing, was overjoyed at the prospect of doing actual 'art', having been forced for years to balance it with textiles and graphic design in one shitty subject hour, both of which I was tremendously crap at. For years I had been the art 'it girl'- doodling (in retrospect) funny shaped humans with odd looking hands and dis proportioned faces that weirdly people found enticing. "Please draw this Sophie" my in awe friends would say as I handed someone another peculiar drawing.
Anyway, In this lesson we were asked 'what is art?' Now even at the simple age of 13 I was well aware how vast art is as a form. I'd binge-watched Sky Arts and seen everything from Tracey Emin style installations to classical renaissance portraits of regal Kings and Queens. I knew art could not be boxed and as bizarre as a pair of parted arse cheeks that you could literally walk through were (I said I've seen everything and I meant it) I accepted it. How stupid was I.
Within weeks of beginning we were shunted into a dark limited box of what we could create as 'art.' If it wasn't a plant with fresh, almost plastic, leaves in a pretty little terracotta pot we did not see it for at least a month. It was meant to harness our skills, not like the shocking portraits we'd done for years, but they did neither let us venture elsewhere or teach us the skills. We just descended into a despairing spiral of very badly drawn leaves.
Art had to be realistic. The object had to be in front of you. Now I accept that this is the best way of learning shading and shape but it is not the best way to express yourself. We became so entrapped by the education system's version of art that when they finally let us free to paint so merrily to music (as we used to the year before) we froze solidly, unable to let the brush do the talking. It had to be straight, perfect, shaped and formed. I had so many breakdowns and moments crying outside the art block I can't count. I felt like my creativity had been sapped against my will.
I managed somehow, I can't say I produced the best art in those three years but I did my god damn best to rebel against the system. They wanted shitty little drawings of keys? They got them, but that also got the keys draped on the beauty of the female form, as a woman held her keys while talking on the phone. I broke every rule, I changed every topic to suit myself and somehow I emerged comfortably in the top grade available.
So I entered AS Level Art confident. I'd beat the system and after a break from torturous educational art I was adamant I could do it again. I, more than anything, just wanted to win and prove that art didn't have to be perfect. I wasn't perfected and neither was anything I was producing at the time. Even now I dislike the majority of what I do but to me, that is art. Two weeks in I'd failed to paint a damn thing and I, after a meeting with my disappointed art teacher, said fuck it (internally of course) and quit the subject.
You see art isn't what they tell you it is. You can smear gloopy acrylic paint across a canvas and call it art and it's just as beautiful as the Mona Lisa if you want it to be. In fact to use it as an example the Mona Lisa is not the same art style as some of these perfectly realistic paintings but by god is it a classic. We couldn't do that in education. It took me years post AS Art shambles to be able to comfortably paint again. I can open my sketch book and do whatever I want to whatever degree of success. My doodles are as perfect as my classic portraits- I'm not trapped by a style or a standard.
Art has to change. Especially for the most creative of children who want to express themselves in whatever way they deem fit, our approach to creativity must change. Instead of placing a shitty B&Q plant pot in front of a gawping child try showing them the architectural works of Gaudi or the visual masterpieces of Rembrandt- tell them how fantastic they can be if they form their own style.
Am I the best at acrylics? No, I'm far too heavy handed and use them more like oils than acrylics. My style is scratchy and not very neat or well blended. But I love it. It's mine just as much as Rembrandt's is Rembrandt's. It's the 'Nixon' style.
And that is how art should be.
I recall so clearly our first ever art lesson circa Year 9. I had recently moved up into what the American's would call 'High School' from the awkward phase of 'Middle School' to a building with a glorious mismatched serious of art studios connected by secret doorways and to top it off, a towering staircase leading to our own private zen area for quiet painting away from the rambunctious scamps who couldn't wait to drop the damn subject for GCSE. I, a naive young thing, was overjoyed at the prospect of doing actual 'art', having been forced for years to balance it with textiles and graphic design in one shitty subject hour, both of which I was tremendously crap at. For years I had been the art 'it girl'- doodling (in retrospect) funny shaped humans with odd looking hands and dis proportioned faces that weirdly people found enticing. "Please draw this Sophie" my in awe friends would say as I handed someone another peculiar drawing.
Anyway, In this lesson we were asked 'what is art?' Now even at the simple age of 13 I was well aware how vast art is as a form. I'd binge-watched Sky Arts and seen everything from Tracey Emin style installations to classical renaissance portraits of regal Kings and Queens. I knew art could not be boxed and as bizarre as a pair of parted arse cheeks that you could literally walk through were (I said I've seen everything and I meant it) I accepted it. How stupid was I.
Within weeks of beginning we were shunted into a dark limited box of what we could create as 'art.' If it wasn't a plant with fresh, almost plastic, leaves in a pretty little terracotta pot we did not see it for at least a month. It was meant to harness our skills, not like the shocking portraits we'd done for years, but they did neither let us venture elsewhere or teach us the skills. We just descended into a despairing spiral of very badly drawn leaves.
Art had to be realistic. The object had to be in front of you. Now I accept that this is the best way of learning shading and shape but it is not the best way to express yourself. We became so entrapped by the education system's version of art that when they finally let us free to paint so merrily to music (as we used to the year before) we froze solidly, unable to let the brush do the talking. It had to be straight, perfect, shaped and formed. I had so many breakdowns and moments crying outside the art block I can't count. I felt like my creativity had been sapped against my will.
I managed somehow, I can't say I produced the best art in those three years but I did my god damn best to rebel against the system. They wanted shitty little drawings of keys? They got them, but that also got the keys draped on the beauty of the female form, as a woman held her keys while talking on the phone. I broke every rule, I changed every topic to suit myself and somehow I emerged comfortably in the top grade available.
So I entered AS Level Art confident. I'd beat the system and after a break from torturous educational art I was adamant I could do it again. I, more than anything, just wanted to win and prove that art didn't have to be perfect. I wasn't perfected and neither was anything I was producing at the time. Even now I dislike the majority of what I do but to me, that is art. Two weeks in I'd failed to paint a damn thing and I, after a meeting with my disappointed art teacher, said fuck it (internally of course) and quit the subject.
You see art isn't what they tell you it is. You can smear gloopy acrylic paint across a canvas and call it art and it's just as beautiful as the Mona Lisa if you want it to be. In fact to use it as an example the Mona Lisa is not the same art style as some of these perfectly realistic paintings but by god is it a classic. We couldn't do that in education. It took me years post AS Art shambles to be able to comfortably paint again. I can open my sketch book and do whatever I want to whatever degree of success. My doodles are as perfect as my classic portraits- I'm not trapped by a style or a standard.
Art has to change. Especially for the most creative of children who want to express themselves in whatever way they deem fit, our approach to creativity must change. Instead of placing a shitty B&Q plant pot in front of a gawping child try showing them the architectural works of Gaudi or the visual masterpieces of Rembrandt- tell them how fantastic they can be if they form their own style.
Am I the best at acrylics? No, I'm far too heavy handed and use them more like oils than acrylics. My style is scratchy and not very neat or well blended. But I love it. It's mine just as much as Rembrandt's is Rembrandt's. It's the 'Nixon' style.
And that is how art should be.