Art: (noun) the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Every young child is exposed to “art”, typically by the fine folks of Crayola. However, just because you can stay within the lines while coloring by numbers doesn’t make you an artist. In my day, the Darwinistic method of the survival of the fittest for art began in elementary school. Most K-6 teachers did not have to “teach” art, most schools had an art teacher that determined who had “it” and who didn’t. “It” of course was the ability to create something of more than ordinary significance. Not everyone has the ability to draw fluffy clouds and beautiful landscapes like Bob Ross.
My grade school art teacher certainly had “it”. In fact, she had a lot of “it”. Based on what I now know about the 1980’s or at least what has been dramatized on Miami Vice or in the Jay McInerney novel Bright Lights, Big City, my art teacher was definitely skilled in “aesthetic principles” in many ways. Ms. Cartwright (could have been Mrs. Cartwright, but let’s leave it at Ms. for purposes of this story) in my memory was at least 6 feet tall with long blond hair and bright green eyes. She drove an orange Corvette Stingray and always wore a smock that barely covered her short skirts. Art in my school was a once a week session where the fittest would get the attention and the rest of us would be given a box of Crayola to color by number.
Teachers do not teach art, teachers discover the artists in students. I was never discovered, but I always adored Ms. Cartwright. I still imagine what those special students got that I didn’t.
Today, with no children being left behind, no bully zones, happy times after school clubs, and so many other fabulous programs, all grade school kids are now being given equal support to be an artist. Darwin is dead and all children are equal, there is no more discovery of budding artists. Of course, there are some kids that are more talented than others, but everyone has to be treated the same. Sure, all parents should proudly display the heart and soul of their child’s art efforts, but some art work is better suited on the refrigerator door.
Art class now is much more homogenous now than it was back in the days of Ms. Cartwright. Even though I was never touched by my art teacher, I knew that there were kids that would survive in an art battle and the rest of us should focus on language arts or something less visually beautiful and appealing. I will focus on providing compliments and encouragement to the creators of pictures of landscapes with tall trees and fluffy clouds that more resemble a disastrous nuclear meltdown.
As I learned from the Happy Time Club, two positives are greater than one negative.
This was written as a blog throwdown against http://mmaskill.blogspot.com/
I am sure I got my ass kicked. My take on the title “Art: Then and Now” didn’t go the way I thought it would.
