Revealing All

Blogs are funny things. Are they for online journals? Newsletters? Political rantings? Gripe sessions? And who is reading them anyway? My mom? My professor? My neighbor? My kids? Some psycho computer geek with a penchant for a middle aged grandma? With so many questions unanswered it really leaves one in a quandary as how much of ones inner-life to share with the whole world but since, in this unusual case, my art class grade depends on it, here it goes. Besides hasn’t much of great art through the ages depended on someone being willing to “bare all” so to speak?

In reflecting back on my own “artistic journey,” I think that, perhaps, it came to a screeching halt somewhere around ninth grade. Prior to that time, I spent a great deal of time in the arts. I loved working in clay, dabbling with paints, carving a piece of wood, or dancing to Tchaikovsky. The art rooms were my refuge in the junior high world. Then we moved. I remember registering for an art class at my new high school. On the first day, the teacher arranged our seats in a circle, put a horse’s saddle in the middle of the room and told us to draw it. My hands simply could not translate what my eyes were seeing to the paper. Within days I dropped the class and with it my desire to be myself; to create for the love of it. Comparing my talents to the rest of those in the circle consumed me.

Fast forward, thirty something years later to one of those ‘aha” moments when I figured out something about art and about myself. Somewhere around adolescence we change our perception of the world from one-dimensional to three-dimensional. We are no longer satisfied with simple line drawings and cartoon figures. Our world takes on texture, shading, space and perspective. Without the guiding hand of a teacher or mentor we simply do not know how to translate what we are seeing with our eyes to the paper in front of us; both in our lives and in our artwork. Our stories remain flat, our pictures remain childish and our confidence is shaken.

Every teen needs someone to guide them. Every young Virgil needs a Beatrice. Everyone needs someone to restore their confidence during vulnerable times. They need someone to help translate what they are seeing with their eyes to what can be created with their hearts and hands. They need to make the transition from a one-dimensional world to a three-dimensional one whether it is through a painting or a relationship. Each of us must somehow pass on the skills we have developed to a struggling artist or student or friend so that they too can express their deepest emotions in whatever medium they choose.