Tag: teaching

A Letter to a Student of the Humanities

The calling of the humanities is to make us truly human in the best sense of the word.

J. Irwin Miller

Greetings!

It was several months ago when we first met, me presenting the whys and hows of our pledged encounter, you unsure and doubting of your decision. I could sense that you wondered if this was the best way to spend your time, together two days a week for several weeks, sacrificing a portion of your long awaited summer. Not everyone in a commitment such as ours sticks it out and many fall away. But you, you stayed all this time, and aren’t we both the better for it?

You began our relationship only wanting to know how to get what you desired, that perfect affirmation, that A+ grade. Oh, I sensed your skepticism when I explained that our journey was bigger than that, that we were going to spend time exploring what it means to be human. I wanted, and still want, more for you— for your third eye to open and for you to view yourself and the world differently.

So I’ve played Scheherazade, telling stories about how a grouchy Renaissance genius sculpted, from flawed marble, an enduring symbol of pride for a small city-state. How that same artist not only depicted the moment of animation of the Biblical first man, but how he also slyly showed Eve already formed and tenderly sheltered in the Creator’s embrace. That led to a discussion of time as being experienced simultaneously, in the present now and the far distant past, and that led to more talk about physics, time, and creation.

There were stories of an artist whose tortured sense of self meant his actions kept him away from the one thing he truly longed for— to love and be loved; and how he turned that ache into paintings and drawings and all kinds of wonderful things like stars that spun in the sky and planets whirling and whirling and whirling.

We looked at a painting that showed the fate of a teacher from Ancient Greece, a gadfly, who insisted his students question everything. I joked that whenever anyone asked me what I did for a living that I answered that I corrupted the youth of Detroit, and we laughed, because you understood what that meant; we all agreed that I shouldn’t face the same end as Socrates, and I remain pretty confident that I won’t.

Like giants we stepped from continent to continent, and like time-travelers we went from prehistoric caves in France, to Imperial China, to revolutionary France, and back home again before we took off on another world tour. All creative doors were open, and if sometimes the folks we met were different than us, that was okay too, because they were honest and interesting and very human.

Then one day we stepped outside the classroom to visit our local museum. It was there, in front of a painting that you had first seen in our text book, by an artist who had been sorely misused, who dealt with her pain and injustice with story, legend and paint, that you said the very words every humanities and art teacher longs to hear from her students:

“Art is about more than just paintings and drawings, isn’t it? It’s about things that happen in real life.”

It was then I knew that, although our time together would shortly come to an end and other commitments would soon take precedence, and in time you would turn to others in your quest for knowledge,  at this moment you really understood what I was trying to show you. You understood that art is not a frivolous pastime or a casual undertaking; that to study the humanities is to connect to others through time and space, and to truly see you need only open your third eye, and your mind and your heart will follow.

Wishing you much wisdom and continued insight, I remain yours truly,

Martine

A Road Forward and Back

“True teachers are those who use themselves as bridges over which they invite their students to cross…” 

Nikos Kazantzakis

As a Mid-Century Modern, I remember the time before Al Gore created the internet and what it meant to be stuck in a bind because a missing piece of information was needed to complete a project, research an idea or learn an artistic technique. Myself, I’ve used the “www” to learn the history of saints (for my mixed media relics), the anatomy of bees (a painting I am currently working on) and formulae for oil paint medium (still referencing). How was knowledge ever transmitted prior to the 1990s?

Well, yes, it sometimes involved trips to the library and searching through the stacks for the right book, crossing your fingers that someone else didn’t take it out before you. Subscriptions to art magazines were another good source, with their “how-to” articles and tips and techniques. But far and away the very best way to know the ins and outs of a thing was, and remains, having a mentor and teacher.

Lucky the students whom the fates conspire to put the right teacher in their path at the right time. When I went back to college, itched by the possibility that I might find a place in the arts, my teacher Jim Pudjowski encouraged me to go to graduate school at Wayne State University. There professors, with manners direct and no nonsense, encouraged, pushed, advised, counseled and otherwise helped launch me towards my lifelong vocation, each adding, bit by bit, to my artistic formation. Best of all, although it has been over 16 years since my graduation, I can still call upon any of them with a question or request for feedback or artistic advice.

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A teachable moment.

In the classroom I often tell stories of my own trials as a student and the different techniques and philosophies learned from my teachers. Once, at an exhibition opening, I had the great experience of having one of my prior teachers and a former student visit at the same time. After introducing them to each other, we got to talking about the lineage of teaching, tracing tradition backwards from the student, now an artist herself, to me, to my professor, who then shared who his teacher was, and who his teacher’s teacher was and so on. A veritable genealogy!

It’s lovely to stand on the road and look both forward and backwards, feeling that as a student and a teacher, you are part of a grand lineage. That thread is something that the digital universe, with all its access to information, just can’t duplicate.

This Week in the Studio

I’m still working on my small rondel paintings and am making fair progress on those as well. Hopefully I will have a completed one to post next week!