Things I Learned in Art School Part 1: The Gift of Intentional Awfulness
“Art school” is usually presumed to describe ridiculous hipsters and their pretentious, and pointless, experimentation. In my case, I’ve always found my years in art school at RISD (which for the record involved tons of hard work and were potentially the most fruitful years my brain has ever seen) as the greatest gift I could ever get- an education built around creative thinking, risk taking, and, yes, experimentation (maybe while surrounded by hipsters…). And that has served me every day of my life, whether I’m making artwork or not. In the current climate of education- including higher education- it seems all resources are dedicated to keeping the automaton factory running, so I thought I’d shake it up a bit and revisit the top 3 things I learned from art school. Art school: it’s not just for hipsters anymore!
People can miss the point on creative thinking pretty easily, and when they do it looks like this: working to find your catchy “hook”- you know, the one that earns you the most adulation- and then finding tricky ways to regurgitate that for as long as the praise continues. Blech. A pretty common sighting. One of my professors (Hi Bill Drew! Thank you!) had a great solution to this problem: as soon as you get really good at something, make the choice to be intentionally awful at everything. Whenever any one of us would be churning out the adulation worthy nice and safe paintings, he would call us out and tell us to take on a period of “making shitty paintings”.
Turns out people can miss the point on making shitty paintings pretty easily too. It’s not about checking out, getting lazy, and crapping all over your work for a while. It’s about the opposite. It’s about reaching. You have to take the big risk that you’ve been too terrified to take, and then show the world just how awful all your work is as you go through the painful learning curve.
It’s about leaning into the sharp points and not shying away from those challenging spots for the sake of getting the easy A. It’s a commitment to integrity, and to never-ending growth. This is both a satisfying and frustrating acknowledgement of a life of never quite getting there. Or more precisely, to knowing that there is no there there. Finish lines, it turns out, are temporary man made constructions.
So why put up with the frustrating bits of this path? The parts where everything you make or feel is, well, shitty? At the end of the day you can either choose to lean into the sharp points and grow, or go into a slumber and sleepwalk your way to death (which by the way, is an exceptionally frustrating way to live life, so you don’t get to skip the frustrating bits either way). I hate to be a “there are two kinds of people in the world” person, but there you go; I think the world is full of either those who are leaning in, or those who are sleepwalking.
The best possible illustration of “leaning in” that I’ve ever come across comes from a favorite story that Pema Chodron tells about her teacher, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche in her book When Things Fall Apart:
He told a story about traveling with his attendants to a monastery he’d never seen before. As they neared the gates, he saw a large guard dog with huge teeth and red eyes. It was growling ferociously and struggling to get free from the chain that held it. The dog seemed desperate to attack them. As Rinpoche got closer, he could see its bluish tongue and spittle spraying from its mouth. They walked past the dog, keeping their distance, and entered the gate. Suddenly the chain broke and the dog rushed at them. The attendants screamed and froze in terror. Rinpoche turned and ran as fast as he could—straight at the dog. The dog was so surprised that he put his tail between his legs and ran away.
The scary stuff that we’re dodging has a tendency to put its tail between its legs and run away when we’re hurling ourselves directly at it. So, what easy track are you taking that you can mix up by throwing some shitty paintings into the mix? To kick it up a few notches, what snarling dogs can you run at?
To leave you with one last thought from Pema Chodron (because I adore that woman)
“Comfort orientation murders the spirit… Opting for coziness, having that as your prime reason for existing, becomes a continual obstacle to taking a leap and doing something new, doing something unusual.”
So go shake it up people.
*and if you want to hear my interview with Vanessa Scotto where I get into some of this stuff, it’s here.
Photo by blhphotography
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That’s exactly what I needed to hear today! I’ve been trying to resuscitate my inner artist just to see what I can do and you’re so right, we have to give ourselves permission to do shitty work just to free ourselves, the problem is getting past your mean voices and just do it for the sake of doing it. I loved this article – Thanks!
I hate when I read something this brilliant becuase it makes me think, “Well shit, I might as well stop writing because I could never say anything as brilliant as this!” Thanks for sharing your insight!
Reminds me of when I was six years old. I loved Roy Rodgers. I wanted to be a cowboy. I longed to sleep out on the range. But, I lived in New York City. In an apartment. So, in lieu of nights under the stars, my mother let me set up a tent and “camp out” on the living room.
The hardwood living room floor was uncomfortable.
But, that very uncomfortable-ness was very satisfying. Whenever I felt my bones rubbing against the hard floor, I knew I was getting closer to being a cowboy.
All learning includes uncomfortable moments.
When you’re learning a new way of being in the world, it’s inevitable that you’ll be clumsy at first. You’re out of your depths. Your nervous system is working hard to wire in the new way of thinking and acting.
You’re at the base of a learning curve. And walking your way up will include some stumbling. But, it’s not the stumbling that makes you uncomfortable.
Stumbling and bumbling doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable.
In fact, it can be very satisfying.
It’s your interpretation that counts. When I rolled over onto the hardwood floor and bruised my hipbone – I took that as a sign of progress. I was that much closer to being a cowboy.
What makes being uncomfortable satisfying?
When you recognize that the discomfort is taking you closer to your goal.
When you understand that the discomfort is the signal indicating that your neurology working intensely to build new patterns of expertise.
Then, you’ll gladly lean into your discomfort.
Right on Eric! Love all the stumbling and bumbling!
And Brandie- wow- I’m humbled and hugely flattered- thank you (and go write some stuff!)
702desertmom- glad youe inner artist is feeling a little freer ; )
Thanks for the love guys!
That was wonderful. Change and being out there is scary. I am trying to start a massage practice and am feeling stuck. I also went to art school and remeber the feeling of creativity yet of being having to be ok with what you put up for classmates to see. Always comparing and wondering if yours was good. Your writings made my smile and remember why I do what I do. Thanks
Thanks Jen!