When I decided that I wanted to learn how to draw, I was studying in one of the most prestigious universities in the country - and I say that with a bit of mockery. I don’t believe in prestige, in fact I find it laughable. Especially since the university’s policy of accepting only the best worked against me.
My school, like most schools with a superiority complex, wanted to teach only those who already showed promise. There was a talent test that was so rigorous that even my friends who were already good failed it. More than once. I was initially a Film major, and because of the talent test involved, I knew that shifting to Fine Arts wasn’t an option.
Since I could only draw stick figures at that time (no exaggeration), I decided to leave the university and find another school which had a different approach to the arts. I wanted to find an environment where art could be taught, where teachers didn’t expect you to be preternaturally good at drawing on the first day.
So I applied to a small college that no one had even heard of. During my application interview, the head of the Fine Arts department told me that 21 was “the perfect age to start learning how to draw” since I would be mature and responsible enough to take it on. She spent over an hour discussing with me how it was her philosophy that art skills can be taught, rather than just inherited. She also gave me a rundown of her success stories - college students who didn’t know how to draw, but through diligence have become successful artists. This inspired me.
After that interview, I knew that it was the perfect place for me to learn. I signed up.
It wasn’t a difficult decision for me. It was, however, difficult for others to understand. Why would I voluntarily leave a prestigious university for an unknown school located behind a mall? Many students would kill to be in my position and here I was throwing it away. Friends and family were so perplexed that they thought I was facing some kind of crisis. As far as I was concerned, there was none. I wanted to draw. I wanted to find an environment where I would be encouraged to learn it. And I did.
My progress over the years (click to enlarge in a new window).
I know I still have years of hard work ahead of me, but the most important step I took was to believe that creating art can be learned, that I did not have to solely rely on what is popularly known as “inborn talent”.
“…but talent is a dreadfully cheap commodity, cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work and study; a constant process of honing. Talent is a dull knife that will cut nothing unless it is wielded with great force…”
Stephen King, Danse Macabre
We spend most of our lives avoiding opportunities to discover new skills just because we don’t think we have the talent for it. By doing this, we automatically block out options for careers, hobbies, and even passions. For most, artistic pursuits are only for the talented, those people who by genetic lottery or favor of the gods were given the gifts to create works of beauty.
And who can blame us for giving talent a mythical status? The finished work of artists and writers looks so effortless and contained that we don’t see all the hard work, notes, drafts, and sleepless nights that went into it. We forget that the art object or the literary piece itself is only a small fraction of the creative process. It’s much like a magic show - you see the trick, but not how it’s done. To the audience, the illusion takes seconds, but the magician took years of practice developing his skill, carefully watching the masters, and building his kit of smoke and mirrors.
Talent might make a difference, but it is not the deciding factor for one’s success. Many talented individuals go to waste because they expect creative work to come easy for them and are frustrated when it doesn’t. They don’t realize that apart from the talent they bring to the table, they also have to work long hours, learn from their mistakes, and constantly make the effort to be better. Without these, talent is just a collection of fluff dreams that don’t make it to reality.
Motivation and perseverance outweigh talent every time. Remember that the next time you hesitate to embark on creative work.
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on Dec 3rd, 2008 at 5:37 am
To start with, I’ve always felt the same way about institutional learning factories. It worked against me also, and I hated the fact that the system did not treat young people as humans with equal rights to explore, fail, lack interest, question authority, solve problems or giving answer on their own time. It didn’t provide any great tools for facing and overcoming fear, or dealing with threats to our sense of autonomy. All in contrary. We just learned enough to know how to be square enough to fit in mass society. That I think, is a crime.
Nonetheless, some teachers managed to inspire me, mainly by giving me a chance to do things my own way. And there it was, the talent, the surpise, the joy, the eager learning, the capacity to control myself, to teach myself, to work hard and even harder to get to the point were I could be really proud of myself. Not because someone said so. No, because I felt I had done something great. I leveled up.
Time passed by, I tried some universities, rejected them again, never felt at ease, joined the army, tried study again. Not to much avail. I could never fit in the way others seem so easy to do. But then again, I had grown accustomed to my ideas, not theirs. Indeed, no real support could have come from parents or friends, for I was unable to explain my needs and thoughts on this matter. To think of it know, it seems obvious that it felt more alike some holy or sacred path we choose for ourselves, to become our true own master and follower all the same. I guess that’s why you felt at home when this teacher said that talent wasn’t that important after all. It had to be (l)earned by working your ass off. You had to find your own way to level yourself up, rather than to rely on make-believes. You had to become the better you, instead of becoming the better student.
Its’a life lesson I took with me for the rest of my life and wich made it so much easier for me to adapt to a working life, without losing myself in any kind of false commitment, or false sense of security. I always felt confident that whatever may be, I had myself as greatest support, advisor and if needed, fighter. The only true pain was that there were not many people around who shared the same thoughts. It’s a sacred, but lonely path.
But are we comfortable with the thought of never having to experience the efforts and the failures wich come with surpassing our talent? Do we ever feel like we’ve accomplished something indispensable and vital to our life, if we never had to throw away the sketches, the drawings, the concepts that we’ve been making along the process? Do we ever get to see fantasy island, if we don’t want to leave our ship?
I don’t think so.
And there’s one more thing to it. A crucial thing i.m.o. And that would be humor. Life without isn’t worth a penny. I can become whatever I want to, but in the end, if I can not laugh about it, it’s a waste of time. And I’m glad that your little drawing shows perfectly clear that humor is a necessary part of the learning process. Thumbs up!
on Dec 3rd, 2008 at 5:41 am
Thanks for sharing your story, Gio. It’s quite touching to hear from another person who has paved their own path to learning, finding that the cookie-cutter plan created for the majority doesn’t seem to fit with them. I’ve received my fair share of criticism from friends and family, and just like you said, this makes the learning process seem more like a lone spiritual quest. For me, that made it all the more sacred.
You’re also absolutely right about humor.
Again, thanks for sharing your story.