I teach fine art to children at Mission Renaissance (
http://www.fineartclasses.com). I love my job because it allows me to teach, which is something I’ve wanted to do since I can remember. But, occasionally, I find that these kids teach me.
I have an eight-year-old girl I teach, I’ll call her “F” to protect her (that’s why I also won’t put up a picture of her here - too many freaky people out there). F is a funny, shy, smart little girl. She’s just moved into “master duplication” at my studio, which means she is learning not only how to reproduce master painters like Manet and Monet, but she’s also learning why they painted the way they do. Teach them how the painter painted so they can learn techniques they can apply to any other kind of painting as they grow older and figure out what they want to paint.
So, the struggle with F has been the struggle most of us have. She would get to a certain point in the drawing/painting where it was just ugly. There’s always that point, where what we’re creating is just plain ugly. It’s usually about the middle point, before the fine tuning has happened and while the whole thing is funky-looking. F would always break down at that point, crying, frustrated because her art wasn’t perfect yet. In the end, she always ended up liking what she drew/painted, once she got through the ugly part to the polished, pretty final part.
Working with her during spring camp, I finally got her to stop breaking down at the point where she usually did. We talked about how the artwork always hits the “ugly” part. I made her laugh while we talked about the ugly part and she ended up letting me take a picture of her making an ugly face when her painting hit that ugly part. She has, in fact, kind of embraced the ugly part. Today, as she was working on a Manet duplication (eight years old, remember), she hit the ugly part. She had a moment of starting to choke up but I saw her catch herself. Then she kept painting. When I came up to her a few minutes later to check on her, she smiled up at me. “I’m at the ugly part,” she said, “and that’s okay.” She continued her painting, not noticing how much it touched me to hear that. Then, when her mom came to pick her up, she told her mom, “Look, it’s at the ugly part. But it’ll be all right next week when I get past the ugly part.”
I’ve been struggling today with nothing big. Just the usual. Money is beyond tight, as in, I have about $6 until next payday which is a week from Friday. I’m overwhelmed with projects, which will sort themselves out shortly but a bunch of things are happening with all of them right now and it’s challenging keeping everything straight. I’m alone. I’m overweight. I’m (fill in the blank). So today has been a tough mental health day.
But as I was driving home, I was relishing the revelation of F and the fact that she’s embraced the ugly part of her art. Then I realized something.
I’m at the ugly part.
I’ve begun the work of art that my life will be. I’ve spent the last few years getting the sketch in, making sure the lines are correct and that everything relates the way it’s supposed to relate. I’ve laid down the tones, making sure that it all fits together. I’ve even done the scrub (the paint under everything that tints the canvas to the right tone) in preparation for the painting. I’ve started laying down the colors and starting to flesh out the painting.
And now I’m at the ugly part. The colors aren’t quite right, the tones are a bit too bright, the shape of my original drawing is getting wonky and out of proportion. When I step back to look at it, all I can see are the things that aren’t right, that need work. The edges are harsh and rough, nothing blends together, everything crashes together in a riot of colors and angles and brushstrokes without making anything recognizable.
But beneath the ugly part, there is a masterpiece. The foundation is solid and it just needs some adjusting and cleaning up. I need to remember to step back to take in the whole thing and appreciate the elements that are right and correct. Find the lines that are clear and clean and the tones that make the shape of the painting itself. Know that, eventually, the ugly will yield a masterpiece, if I can just keep going.
So, for right now, I will accept the ugly part, as much as I don’t like it. I’ll let you know when the masterpiece starts to emerge.
