SPECIAL THIS WEEK BY TOM ALLEN
Many of you know that I am married to Susan and am a partner with her in the non-art, non-teaching aspects of her business. As her assistant I often field emails and address the ones that don’t need her personal touch.
Recently Susan received an extended response to her blog post “Why Color Is Irrelevant.” Susan’s post is about how value is more important than color when creating form. It stresses the important relationship between light and dark when using fabric to make images. Blog reader Cindee Andres, however, saw the piece from a slightly different angle, reminding her of a distressing childhood memory.
For a final project in art class, ten-year-old Cindee decided to make a yellow hippopotamus. This was unacceptable to the teacher, who insisted that the image be made “real” and demanded that Cindee “fix it.”
Happily Cindee refused to comply and didn’t make the hippo gray, even though she was denied her achievement badge for the project. Unhappily, the event sucked the joy out of creating her beautiful yellow hippo.
Says Cindee:
I had forgotten this exchange until I read Susan Carlson’s blog post on “Why color is irrelevant” just now, 46 years later. The problem I had as a 10 year old was not ignorance or inexperience; I knew what color a live hippo was. The problem was not that I was a rude and stubborn child who would not comply to reasonable requests. The problem was I could dream big, see things other than how they were, and had not learned yet to hide my knowledge and vision from the outside world. The lessons were harsh. 2 years later I was scornfully told by my own mother (who was herself a frustrated artist) to “stop wasting my time drawing.” I put down my pencil immediately and didn’t pick it up again for 40 years.
Twenty-six years later, Cindee started quilting, which re-introduced her to art and to her “wild artistic childhood self.” Quilting provided a back door, as I’m sure it does for many of Susan’s students, into the art world. Traditional quilts can be seen either as utilitarian or expressive, making them “safe” to produce and present to the world.
As an observer at many of Susan’s classes, I see many a student who claims they are “not an artist.” It seems to me that they use this phrase as a protective shield, proactively lowering expectations for their completed project. It makes we wonder how many of them have endured experiences like Cindee’s. What wounds are they reflexively covering up?
I like how Cindee stood up for herself despite the consequences, but I bet she is an outlier. I suspect that most children (and adults) suffer such criticisms silently, quietly setting aside their paints, or their clay, or their pens and pencils and never picking them up again.
Susan herself suffered a similar experience. When she was a teenager she played the guitar. She used to bring it on Girl Scout camping trips where they’d sing at the campfire. She knew a few chords for popular songs and she enjoyed singing with her friends. Then one day she played and sang for visiting family members, where laughter over either her playing or the song broke out. She pushed through to the end of the song, but then ended the session. Soon after, she gave up the guitar, and to this day she avoids sing-alongs like the plague.
In contrast, she never received anything but encouragement for her visual art. She took art classes throughout high school, went to an art college, and has practiced art continuously since, either as a hobby or a profession.
As for me, it was the lack of encouraging word that set back my artistic expression. As a grammar school student I loved to sing. Chorus was my favorite class. I had an ear for melody and could sing on key effortlessly. But I never received any encouragement for it. Neither my teachers nor my parents ever said, Hey, you did really good. You sounded nice. You should do more of that. In high school I wound up in band, playing clarinet, for which I had very little talent. So it’s only now, more than forty years later, that I am coming back to singing.
Our son, Sam, may have inherited his love of music from us, but he is not a fan of the visual arts. He produced very few pieces of art as a child. The few he made, like the butterfly above, we cherish and display proudly. No matter what we said to encourage him though, once he tried something like painting, once was enough.
Words—or the lack of them—have more power than we appreciate. I doubt that Cindee’s teacher or Susan’s family understood the impact their reactions would have. Neither do we fully understand how powerful our praise and support can be.
Susan says: “All art is good art.”
This sums up in five words what makes Susan a popular and effective teacher. This is why women return to her classes again and again, to receive and be replenished by that nurturing message.
When Susan says, “All art is good art,” I don’t think she means that all art is equally as accomplished or technically proficient. I think she equates “good” with “valuable.” Valuable to the person who makes it, as a mode of expression or as a learning opportunity or however. It takes a special talent to recognize and appreciate the value in a piece of art that you might not personally find appealing. Susan has it. I am still learning.
What I’m learning is that it’s more important to be encouraging and inspiring than it is to be critical and exclusionary. In short, a kind word is better than an unkind one. Criticism done correctly of course is not unkind. But it must be done carefully not thoughtlessly, as in the case of Susan and her guitar or Cindee and her yellow hippo. It can take decades to undo the damage.
As Cindee says:
Now 47 years later, I know color doesn’t matter. Being true to my vision does. As Susan Carlson reminded me value and balance are what make my art work. Her bold use of color reminded me that I have a yellow hippo in my past and it is time to free my artistic self from preconceptions and let it fly. I love color. Lots of color. Bright color. Unrealistic color. I will be told I am too much. My work is too strong. That it needs to be subtler. It needs to be more realistic. That I am not following the rules. Because really, things don’t come in those colors.
Unless you enter my world. . .
Thank you Susan Carlson for the memory.
Thank you, Cindee, for sharing your experience.
If you have an art shaming experience, please consider sharing it in the comments below.
I, too, had a similar experience of being told that I didn’t have any talent when it came to drawing by a schoolteacher. I was also taught to be sure to color inside the lines. Those seemingly random comments from the adult to the child often have a far-reaching impact. I don’t think I tried to draw anything for another 40 years – until I tried art quilting. I’ve found I can draw, and through quilt artist/instructors like Susan, have gained confidence in designing art quilts. I’ve rediscovered the joy of drawing a picture.
I’m often reminded of a song by the late, great Harry Chapin called ‘Roses are Red’ that is related to this stultifying experience many children experience when a clueless teacher imposes his/her beliefs upon them. Here are the lyrics (but it is wonderful to hear Harry sing it):
“Flowers Are Red”
The little boy went first day of school
He got some crayons and he started to draw
He put colors all over the paper
For colors was what he saw
And the teacher said, “What you doin’ young man?”
“I’m paintin’ flowers” he said
She said, “It’s not the time for art young man
And anyway flowers are green and red”
“There’s a time for everything young man
And a way it should be done
You’ve got to show concern for everyone else
For you’re not the only one”
And she said, “Flowers are red young man
And green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen”
But the little boy said
“There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one”
Well the teacher said, “You’re sassy
There’s ways that things should be
And you’ll paint flowers the way they are
So repeat after me”
And she said, “Flowers are red, young man
And green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen”
But the little boy said
“There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one”
The teacher put him in a corner
She said, “It’s for your own good
And you won’t come out ’til you get it right
And are responding like you should”
Well finally he got lonely
Frightened thoughts filled his head
And he went up to the teacher
And this is what he said
And he said
“Flowers are red, and green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen”
Time went by like it always does
And they moved to another town
And the little boy went to another school
And this is what he found
The teacher there was smilin’
She said, “Painting should be fun
And there are so many colors in a flower
So let’s use every one”
But that little boy painted flowers
In neat rows of green and red
And when the teacher asked him why
This is what he said
And he said
“Flowers are red, and green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen”
It’s been such a pleasure, later in life, to know artists like Susan Carlson who promote the joy of creating one’s own vision, to draw one’s own story.
This song makes me so sad.
This is the second I am reading you Tom and you write really well. I was thinking that it has become a world of ‘likes’ and one very rarely gets a true response in the social media. Family often humour you or criticise as in the incident above.
It would be nice if we can stop looking for approval and be happy with what we do. One really needs to evolve for that though.
Yes yes and yes! Art and music both made me happy. Could I draw? Nope so I had to drop art class. Could I sing or play an instrument? Nope, so therefore I had to leave band. I was left with no creative outlet..until home ec. Sewing. There, I was introduced to fabrics and patterns that I could make any way I wanted. I can draw now and play the piano somewhat, but that hurt me as a child and hinders me as an adult.
This resonates with me … I too deny my artistry in quilting, though one of my favorite quilts is a blue dog. I’ve seen this,art shaming first hand in my barbershop quartet when we placed last in atough field of 25 with a respectable performance but one of the members took it so badly, she quit and eventually stopped singing altogether. Her reaction hurt me more than our score … she validated it by accepting it as a reason to quit.
I’ll move forward with my art, encouraged by your words. Thank you for them!
I remember in first grade having to put my colored picture into the “Sloppy Joe” pile because I had colored in more than one direction, not neatly as I should have. When I told my mother, she was horrified that a teacher would embarrass a child like that. But I can remember feeling an acceptance, even at 6, that I had done something wrong by doing it the way I wanted to. In spite of having a mother who always supported and encouraged me, I had picked up that notion somewhere that my work wasn’t “good”. Today, over a half century later (!!!), I’ve moved on intellectually but still carry around that inner voice that wants my art to “look nice”. I would love to be able to lose my silent inner critic and produce something that is authentically me. Maybe I’m capable of art that goes beyond pretty and decorative. As Sobana Sundar said in the previous comment though, “One really does need to evolve for that.”
Great article! We all need to be reminded that what we see may not be what someone sees. I am teaching my granddaughter to sew and quilt. I tell her that the project is hers and to do what she wants to with it! She always does great and makes grandma proud!
Great article, Tom! It so amazing to me that when working with quilters they are always so quick to point out the ‘mistakes’ in their projects!! (We are our own worst critics!) I was at Susan’s workshop in Harpswell two summers ago and it was such an amazing experience because it was so important to see how everyone struggled and succeeded and each piece was truly incredible…your article gives me hope! I think I always assume people do things effortlessly all the time–good to hear that we all are constantly learning and developing and discovering hidden talents; we just have to find them and not be afraid. Bravo!
this thought pervades the whole realm of art quilts….as in, “why do you make things you can’t use?” or “You want to hang a QUILT on the wall?” or “why are you wasting your time making a picture of a _______?” Something tells me we quilters enjoy Making. Doesn’t matter if it’s a traditional bed covering with 10 kajillion beautifully pieced triangles or a 21-foot croc! Bringing people’s thoughts to a wider perspective can be challenging! So yes, purple gorillas, yellow hippos, and misunderstood lizards have their place–as do the bed quilters and the realistic visionaries. Thanks, Tom, for a terrific piece of thought!
Thank you Tom for a reminder of how important it is to consider our words when faced with someone’s efforts whatever they may be. And thank you Jane for a little sentence in your reply that reminded me of why I love quilting—“Something tells me we Quilter’s enjoy Makingâ€. After 40+ years of quilting with many of those years involved in teaching and creating patterns and kits complete with samples I have a mountain of quilt tops awaiting completion. Now that I have retired that mountain calls out demanding that they be finished before starting something new. But there are still so many ideas and techniques I want to try and another mountain of fabric demanding to be used. Guilt keeps getting in the way of trying those new things. You have just reminded me that I can give myself permission to MAKE! And one of those things I keep trying to get to is art a la Susan Carlson!
Jane, very well said.
My entire life I’ve had to hear, “Art is a good hobby. You can never make money from art.” It was so devalued by my father that even though I kept dabbling, I wasn’t free to all myself an artist. I went no contact with my dad for three years and my ability for making art exploded. (Honestly, I didn’t know I could draw photo realistic pieces until then!) When that narrative wasn’t constantly in my ear, I was free to be who I really am- an artist. Go live free, people!
Like you, Laura, I put art aside as a teenager because “it doesn’t pay as a profession” and became a scientist. I wasn’t until I was in my late thirties that I took up painting with my mother, who is an accomplished artist and joined her art group, but even there there were rules and ways that had to be followed. It wasn’t until I discovered art quilting in my early forties that I really found myself as an artist. I have many friends of the “I can’t draw” variety and I find it frustrating when the subject comes up, but I just keep repeating that you can do/be anything you want, but everything takes practice and perseverance. No one learns to write copperplate script in one day, And no one expected us to write shakespeare in first grade. There is no such thing as a born artist, only someone who persisted in practicing, in playing until they were happy. Remember. There are rule oriented people out there who will judge your work based on the rules rather than your ideas and expression. They are not true artists. A true artist plays with the rules and revels in messes. I believe everyone is an artist, we just have to let it out. Being creative is part of what makes us human, so have at it!
Thank you Tom for this post! And thank you to Cindee for sharing your experience. I mostly lurk around here without commenting but I love seeing all the beautiful pieces everyone makes in Susan’s classes. One day I will join you! My story is from an experience as a parent. I had taken my boys to a “paint your own pottery” establishment that a family member had recommended. The owner was a former art teacher and she was great with kids, etc. etc. As soon as we walked in she told the kids which pieces they would paint. I politely told her they could choose their own pieces, thank you. One of my boys has Down syndrome and she insisted he choose a bigger piece because he didn’t have the fine motor skills to do a piece with details. I pushed back again and let him choose. My other child was told that lizards were not red, black and turquoise. I replied “His is!” Finally I had to tell her that they didn’t need any “help” and we’d come find her when it was time to pay. The kids didn’t seem to absorb her words because they left happy with their funky lizard and psychedelic undetailed dragon. Needless to say we never went back there and I’m still amazed that anyone thinks this woman is “good with kids.” We’ve since found another place that is much more welcoming to an artist’s vision. All the pieces they have made over the years are proudly displayed but now we are thinking of moving them to the fairy garden we are building in the yard.
This was such a powerful blog. We should always listen to our inner voices to guide us. It would be a dull, colorless world if we stuck to the rules, the norm.
Well said, thank you! In 8th grade our art teacher asked us to draw a tree. You can imagine all the different trees appeared. When I walked to and from school there was a particularly interesting tree. Short and stocky and the branches shot out of the top in every direction. I don’t recall what color I made it or any thing but her comment. “That’s not a tree!â€. I was too shy to explain where I saw it and why it fascinated me, thankfully her comment didn’t stop me from enjoying art and later the joy of quilting .
I must of been one of the lucky ones. I was given so much praise in my high school ( locust Valley N.Y.)..every teacher encouraged me.
But..at home I often heard that I was stupid, so as a result I am a very over sensitive person.
And then there are those accidental happenings. When my daughter was five, she drew and elephant. For whatever reason it struck me in such a way as to cause uncontrollable giggles. I giggled for long enough for my husband to caution me but even then I couldn’t stop.
I’d just had a baby 3 days before and uncontrollable giggles are a thing with me. However that is no excuse for causing a little girl to give up drawing for very nearly the rest of her life until now at the age of 53 she is beginning to take oil painting classes. I think she may have deliberately chosen an art form that I’ve never tackled because she still remembers this episode and thinks I’m an artist whereas she thinks of herself as not at all talented.
I’m so sorry that I caused this to happen to her, if I could take it back I would. All I can do now is encourage the best I can.
Tom, your article brings back memories my high school sculpture project. I was making a vase the shape of a gourd, with a curved neck. The art teacher didn’t like it and suggested I make it an elephant. To pass the class I did as he “suggested”. Never took another art class and through the elephant/vase in the trash! People don’t know how their words affect others. Reminds us to be kind.
Sew appreciated our wise words, Tom ~ thanks for sharing!
The song, Flowers are Rwsâ€, by Harry Chapin comes to mind. “There are so many colors in the rainbow, so let’s use every one.â€
Even when I’m working on traditional quilts I get comments. At one retreat where most attendees worked with calicos and very traditional fabrics, I had some wild green, pink, fuchsia and orange fabrics. One attendee commented “It sure is ‘colorful’ down at this end”. Some of them, including the instructor, were genuinely aghast/befuddled at my choices for the retreat mystery quilt. Still one of my favorite quilts! I was fortunate that my mother encouraged creativity. My father was one of those who, when a kid says the sky is purple with green polka dots, has to correct to something like – no, the sky is blue. Poor guy.
Great article which I have shared, especially with those who influence children and make decisions about their education.
It all sounds so familiar, which is unfortunate for so many of us who have had our lives changed by the early lack of appreciation of our artistic views of the world around us.
I think that this happens more to female children, than to males. Or, perhaps males are simply less compliant and do not alter their life views as readily when they are young.
Many women, myself included, took many decades to fully appreciate my own perception of this most colorful, if terribly flawed world.
Thanks Tom. Your article brought back memories of being in junior high. My music teacher told me to “lip sync”. He said I only had one note and it would be better if I just stayed quiet. I’m in my 60’s now and still lip sync. Your article compels me to re-examine my feelings about my artistic and creative abilities.
What a brilliant article. I was hurt when my husband said that it was a pity that I had no artistic ability when I took up thread painting. Then he was amazed when a thread painted tote bag I made for his friend got such a warm response. Criticism wounds and deters from fulfilment. I just carry on in my own way. I am teaching my young granddaughters to express themselves through the medium of fabric, stitching , collage and fabric art. They know their work is valued by me and are growing in confidence. Let’s share the message that if it makes you happy then it is worthwhile to do it.
A friend of mine with visual impairment (tunnel vision and impaired color vision) asked for help with colors from the instructor in a quilting class….the instructor was rather shocked to learn of her vision limitations and instead of giving assistance and offering encouragement, asked why she was even taking a quilting class!!! I know my friend was negatively affected by the thoughtlessness of this instructor but fortunately, she still plugs along with her quilting and asks for help when she needs it.
Tell your friend she has an advantage if she sees value rather than color!
I too was put down as a child. My Mom couldn’t understand why I wanted to draw when she knew I couldn’t. It was a waste of time. She also pointed out that I shouldn’t sing as I didn’t sound good, that was her words. These things still affect me today and I am in my late 60’s. I do try to draw but of course it is not good. I often say that even my stick man doesn’t look good. I have been told that I can sing from some friends. Even sang in the high school choir, but that early put down, and the pushing of my younger sister to enter singing talent shows has never left me. I now love the art quilts that don’t require exact anything. I can do that! What is said in those formative years can last a lifetime. This blog goes to show that. Thanks so much for this. I think we all need crooked stick men and yellow hippos in our lives.
A friend related a time when her child did not color his duck yellow & the teacher insisted he did not know what a duck was, what color it was supposed to be, etc. He lived on a lake & had visitors of various colors & shapes that were indeed ducks. The teacher was very narrow minded & should not have pressed her opinions on the child. Kudos to those that see their own ducks!!!
Hello,
You’ve hit the nail on the head with this one… I was told by a Girl Scout leader when I was in a St. Patty’s Day show that I had a terrible voice and should never sing out loud. I was about 10 then, and never sang alone in public again until the choir leader in my church noticed my voice during a service. She came and found me after the service and told me that I really had a lovely voice and that the choir could use another soprano. I was in my 40’s. All that time wasted because one woman told me that I couldn’t sing. Discouraging words can have long lasting consequences. Adults often forget how powerful words can be.
Thanks for this reminder.
Sincerely,
Alice G.
Thank you all for your stories. I have come to the conclusion that some people have no vision, no imagination. They can’t “see” a yellow hippo or a purple gorilla.
I was sitting in my back yard one summer evening just enjoying a glass of wine and doodling in a sketch book when my sister stopped by. She asked what I was doing and I said doodling. She looked at it and asked “What is it?” I said it’s just a doodle. “But what’s it supposed to be?” I said, Nothing it’s just a doodle. She just said OK like I had lost my mind. Sigh.
I also thought it was very sad that she couldn’t see the joy of just relaxing with a pencil and paper and doodling.
Your post and Cindee’s experience reminds of the Harry Chaplin song “Flowers are redâ€. (www.songlyrics.com/harry-chapin/flowers-are-red-lyrics/). It deeply saddens me every time I hear it — it came to mind often when my son brought home some creation he made! Thanks for the reminder. Your post was excellent!
Great article, Tom! Children and adults are shaped by the feedback they get in their environment. Having taught my entire life, from swimming lessons as a teen to quilting/sewing as an adult, I recognize the need for safe learning spaces. My shop is one of those places where people can gain confidence in their own vision and be applauded for their creative efforts. The only criterion we use here is “Did you try your best? and Are YOU happy with it?”! I do not celebrate mediocrity, and I can tell when someone needs to be pushed a little out of their comfort zone. We teach technique, safe practices, color theory and projects, but the bottom line is that no-one’s vision is the same. Not every piece must be worthy of hanging in a museum. We always ask people to bring back their finished projects for “show and tell” so they can receive affirmation for their vision and effort.
What a great read and reminder that words hurt and are lasting for long long periods of time. I had a similar experience when I was a teen. A very shy teen as well, but somehow I mustered up enough courage to join in with a group of girls and sing a few lines by myself. I was quickly told I could not carry a tune which really embarrassed me and to this day I am very conscenscious of my singing. I won’t ever sing loud enough for any one to hear me and I’m 66 years old. A long lasting effect on my life. Words are cutting and we need to be careful with them.
Great article! It reminds me of a drawing of a pumpkin my brother once drew. It was orange with a big black spot. The teacher wisely asked him to tell her about the drawing. He replied that the pumpkin had a rotten spot.
In second grade I was told to ‘put my head on my desk’ because I drew outside the lines. I was a precocious illustrator even at the age of 4, and my mother had forbid me to use coloring books. So I was used to creating my own designs. The assignment for the day was to ‘color in’ a drawing of a snowman — boring in my opinion. So I added a blue shape next to the snowman. ‘What’s THAT?!’ asked the teacher. I said matter-of-factly in my 2nd grade voice, ‘A shadow.’ PUT YOUR HEAD ON YOUR DESK was my teacher’s reply. I never forgot that. Now, as an adult, I have a freelance illustrations business (as well as a full-time job). It’s a childhood dream come true. The teacher was wrong. I recommend everyone read Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Big Magic — Living the Creative Life without Fear.’ It’s a great read and you will be inspired to tap in to your creativity. I was.
A fabulous article!
I can’t remember who told me this anecdote, but it’s one I share with my college students who are studying to be elementary teachers.
An art professor was getting ready for work. His five year old daughter asked him, “Daddy, where are you going?” He said, “To work at the college.” She asked what he did there. He said, “I teach college students how to draw.” She gasped and said, “You mean they forgot how to?”
I, too, was told by my choir director not to sing out loud, and was discouraged from drawing and painting. But then I found and fell in love with quilting. What a lovely world to be a part of.
Thanks for this article, Tom. It made me remember how lucky I was to have a mother who understood my need to draw and color. I had a whole wall in our small house that I was allowed to cover with my artwork…a hallway in the center of the house. I spent hours creating my artwork to be hung there, sitting on the stairs that lead up to our bedrooms, reviewing my choices and placement. My mother also taught me how to sew. 8th grade sent me to The Art Institute of Chicago for free Saturday lectures….which helped me open my mind to possibilities. My high school art teacher, Mrs. Smith, was also important in my development, allowing me creative license in my projects. Although I wasn’t able to continue art education, I never stopped doing ‘something’. Life took over, marriage, children, work. In 1990 I took my first quilting class from a very gifted local teacher and the rest is history. Although I manage a few regular quilts now and again (and of course, baby quilts), my love is the art quilt. I’ve learned not to apologize to people when I tell them I don’t make bed quilts. I do what I do because I have to do it! Making is simply a part of me and the smaller art quilt, which can take as long as a large bed quilt to make….is what I most love. No matter how many quilts I complete, there are always many more just waiting to come out! How lucky am I?
When I was in first grade many, many years ago, I loved to read. I tried to check out third-grade-level books from the school library, but the librarian wouldn’t let me because “you won’t have anything to read when you’re in third grade.†I’m lucky she didn’t ruin reading for me. …
Thanks for a great post, Tom..
This brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Tom, and for sharing your story, Cindee. Hooray for COLOR! Hooray for IMAGINATION! Hooray for POSITIVITY!
Hi Tom, this is a very relevant post for many of us. I had several experiences which could easily have stopped me pursuing my creative dreams. family, teachers and even other artists have all been guilty of questioning my abilities and aspirations. I am so glad that my inner voice did not allow me to give up the spark of creativity which glows in my soul daily.
As a former special education teacher, I have lots of memories of my students and their unique way of handling things. One day I heard about an artistic class experience from my student’s mainstream teacher. It was approaching Halloween and the students were coloring pictures of a spooky scene. As the teacher walked by my student who was busy coloring a blue ghost, she said, “Oh Gabriel, have you ever seen a blue ghost?!” Without hesitation, he turned to her and said, “Have you ever seen a white one?” To this day, I often wondered if that student had a lot more going for him than anyone suspected!
When my oldest daughter Frida was about 4, she drew…something…it was blue. I asked “what did you draw?†“A horse,†she replied. I asked “have you ever seen a blue horse?†“No†she said, “that’s why I drew one.†She was my first of four children, and I now have twin four-year-old great granddaughters. I am so grateful to Frida, now 60, to have straightened me out on this so many years ago. All art is art!
Another kind of shaming. When my son, Eric (now57), was in the first grade, his teacher asked the children to bring their favorite record to school to share with the class. His favorite was Van Cliburn playing Beethoven’s Fifth Piano Concerto, the “Emperor.†At the end of the year when I went to pick up all his belongings from the school room, I asked the teacher how the children enjoyed Eric’s record. She told me she had never played it because it wasn’t suitable for children and had told him to take it home. He hadn’t done that. I suppose he was too embarrassed to let us know his about his “mistake.†He didn’t listen to that piece again until we’ll into adulthood. So sad.
I am late to the conversation, but I knew I had to reply as soon as I read Tom’s post last week. The very first time I became aware of Susan Carlson’s amazing work was at a quilt retreat – one that I had flown across the country to attend, at great expense and with great excitement. On the very first day of class (I was NOT in Susan’s class) we were to show our instructor our design for our project. I did so, and my TEACHER said “Not good!” Those exact words. Instead of allowing my 59 year old self to act like a grown up and ask why not, I turned inward and had a terrible time in class the rest of the week. I wasted my time and my opportunity to learn; two things I can never get back. I can only imagine my “masterpiece” if I’d been given constructive criticism instead of a too easy: NOT GOOD.
I haven’t read all of these comments because they are just too painful! I feel sick to my stomach and wonder if this is why I don’t do well. I feel as though I see things differently than most. Perhaps. Still, my stomach is trembling and I am making the choice not to “feel” the emotions of what these poor people have had to endure. Maybe another time I can read more and benefit from it. Still I did enjoy reading the post. It’s my first time here. I had the pleasure of Susan’s visit last night at our Guild meeting.
Wonderful post Tom, and a good reminder on how the power of words can affect people ( even long term). I immediately thought of the Harry Chapin song as I was reading the post. Just another example of why Susan is such a great teacher!
Wow, Tom! You’ve certainly struck a “chord” here! My story involves years and years of piano lessons. It was the 1960’s and rock music was evolving like crazy all around; I begged for more “contemporary” sheet music but my very elderly piano teacher wouldn’t hear of it. Scales, lots of practice and sheet music choices that didn’t resonate with me drowned out my joy in making music. Plus, I wanted to take ballet/modern dance! Eventually, I lost interest in playing. I do have a deep appreciation for all kinds of music. And, I did eventually take up ballet and stayed with it all the way thru college! Thanks for sharing your story and Susan’s!
I love big, bold, bright, brave colors that contrast, blending only when it can’t be helped.
Thank you Tom for bringing this back again. Loved all the comments and the boost it instills in those of us the struggle with our belief in our ability to aspire toward any artistic creation. Susan’s collage class opened up all sorts of avenues in my fiber pieces. Love her classes and her joy of sharing.
Thanks for this article, Tom. It makes me remember how lucky I was to have a mom who allowed me to use our little hallway as an art gallery, ever changing my pieces of artwork and getting her approval. I always encouraged art with my children as well, always giving praise for whatever they produced. I think art and music are most important for personal development and self-satisfaction and fulfillment. I also sang in the high school girls choruses and church choir and really enjoyed that as well.
I forgot to mention my high school art teacher and my chorus director. Both ladies were so encouraging. My art teacher was open to freedom of expression and it gave me pathways to explore. My mother taught me to sew and stitch, so I was already combining textiles into my artwork in high school. How lucky I was!
I remember a specific art project where mine was the best in the class. I overheard one teacher saying to another that she didn’t think I was very artistic. I was heartbroken and went home and told my Mom. Her response was priceless, “…shows what THAT teacher knows…” She went on to tell me how creative I was and in what ways I could show my creativity.
Because my Mom DID believe that I was artistic, I always was and am – in a variety of ways.
This reminds me of a comedy stint, where the comedian Derek told a story of a monkey he colored in school, and brought home to show his parents. His Dad, in German dialect said “Derek, your monkey is purple. Why did you color your monkey purple? Monkeys are brown. Derek, your monkey is going to die”. Other jokes were told with dad mentioned. At least Derek was able to push past the father who had lack of insight in his creative child. Laughing is a stress release. I could not stop laughing at my first wedding. With 2nd husband no laughter, just smiles and joy at our wedding 15 years ago. Yet today… I still will not eat tapioca pudding after my dad said it was fish eggs, then after seeing my repulsion, he said that he was joking. Same dad who held my baby brother over the alligators in the reptile house at St. Louis Zoo, thinking it was funny to see the gators reaction, forgetting how he would terrorize my mother. No wonder she divorced him when I was 6.
So many of us seem to have similar stories of early experiences where adults, often teachers or parents, judged our artistic efforts as unworthy. In my case this led to a lifetime of viewing myself as being “not artistic.” I am so grateful to have discovered fabric collage and teachers like Susan who have encouraged me to spread my wings, create, and push aside those old demons. I now feel like I am an artist and proud of it! Thank you!
My story is a bit different. When I overheard my teacher tell another teacher that she was surprised to see my project was the best in the class – I went home and told my Mom. Bless her, she said, “Well, I thought your teacher was smarter than THAT. Kay you are an artist you will always be creative.” I decided my Mom was right and I’ve always done creative things. It did take someone telling me I could, in order to make me believe it. THANKS MOM!!!