How does one begin?

I have been thinking about teaching lately -- thinking about what should be taught. One finds plenty of books in the stores. They typically show a series of steps, a series of ideas represented in different stages of a picture. The books are okay, as far as they go, in giving someone who has never thought about drawing a way of starting. However, they have the great disadvantage of starting one in the path of convention, of teaching people to see a subject in terms of predetermined ideas. In sharp contrast to that, a real picture deals with ideas in some kind of hidden order of attention and meaning. Your eye goes to this place or that for sometimes mysterious reasons.
In real life, pictures can also sometimes stop abruptly. One has lost the idea, or become temporarily derailed. It is not a matter of not knowing how to draw, but of not knowing what to draw. Sometimes the unfinish of the image is more evocative than adding to it would be. Sometimes a painting has to ripen slowly, or to age like a wine. You set it aside and let it stand as an object of meditation. It's like a dream that has been interrupted.
An image can go through stages that have nothing to do with convention. There is no proper way to draw a thing because there is no proper way to think about it or experience it. The life in the image has to be lived in the mind of the artist first if it is ever to live in the mind and heart of the spectator.

Looking Ahead

I was shopping for art supplies once with my eight-year old daughter in tow. She saw a "explorer" set: a plastic, see-through back pack with a pair of binoculars inside, a compass, a little notebook and a little "how to be an explorer" booklet. The whole thing costs about 16 bucks, and at the time I thought it was too expensive -- especially as I didn't expect the binoculars to work at all, and figured I would just be trading good money for cheap plastic. (And I'm a poor artist!)

She didn't take the news well. Indeed, she was heart-broken and decided to let most of my fellow shoppers share her grief. For a while we walked around the store; I tried to quiet her; I sought to have her understand something of the value of money, and so forth. It didn't work.

After I purchased my art supplies, we left. On the sidewalk, she was still despondent (loudly so). I really hated to see her so upset, especially since I began to see how the explorer kit seemed to really capture her imagination. So, I caved. And we went back into the store. I tried to bait and switch, to persuade her to choose what I considered a more worthy item. And she was almost willing to accept something else just to avoid leaving empty handed. But it was clear that the backpack was all-in-all.

I'm happy to report that I'm not a cruel parent. I finally caved completely and bought her the backpack.

A year later, I'm happy to report that the backpack and its plastic binoculars have been tools she frequently uses. They have accompanied us on many a nature walk around our favorite park. And one day, musing on the circumstances of their purchase, my daughter admonished me to note how much fun we both have had with this toy. And being fair-minded, I was willing to own my mistake.

But she really startled me with the observation she made next, for she told me that when we first set eyes on the binoculars, she "could see into the future and see the good that they (the binoculars) would do."

If any discouraged artists are reading this, take note. Out of the mouth of babes comes a whole bunch of wisdom sometimes! These plastic binoculars don't see as far out as a real pair, but my daughter had managed to look through them and see into a good future.

Art is like that too. The work you do today might not achieve the full acknowledgement you desire. It might not even meet your own standards if the standards are high. But the things you work at now teach and prepare you for the future. And the great art that artists quietly make today will find an authentic audience in the future.

Van Gogh suffered miserably for his art (more miserablly than the average, believe me!) but today is his day. About Van Gogh, one can truly apply what is usually a cliche -- he was ahead of his time.

Compare that with the wild success of today's hipster greats. Damien Hirst is not a keeper. I'm sorry all you investors out there. But Van Gogh was a true far-seeing, humane artist for the future. And his future is our now.

You have to study life in a genuine way if you hope to make an art that lasts. Gimmicks won't do it. But a genuine art sometimes has to wait a long time to find its natural audience, the one that really understands without having to be taught.

For the authentic artist, art is like a pair of kid's plastic binoculars through which you see into the future and see the good that they will do.