“I see a lot of potential in you.” A piece of paper is shoved in my hands. “In case you change your mind. I hope you give art another chance.”
In my junior year of high school, scheduling conflicts landed me in a beginner art class. I had a major drawing phase in middle school that prepared me well enough, but I never thought it would return. I have always loved everything about art and held high regard to artists who dedicated their lives to their craft. This admiration led me to believe I could never be one.
I couldn’t stand that class. Most of my classmates were underclassmen so I was never thrilled to see them. Additionally, I didn’t feel challenged. A majority of the lessons were things I picked up on in the past and could execute them well enough. While I should have considered it an easy getaway from my more difficult classes, the lack of substance I got from the class bothered me. When I got the chance to switch out at the end of the semester, I jumped on the opportunity.
However, my teacher reeled me back in.
She gave me a signed permission slip that would let me skip the other art prerequisites and take the school’s most advanced art course the following year. This offer forced me to reconsider howwhat I thought about myself and my skills. So, I gave it a shot.
In the beginning, I was incredibly intimidated by my classmates. Some were in that class for the second or third time with complete creative control to do any projects they wanted. While I wouldn’t get to experience that as a senior graduating the next semester, art still offered many lessons I still carry through life.
Our first major project was creating charcoal portraits to apply previous lessons of value:, defining how light or dark a hue can be. I was doomed. I’d barely made it through shading different features and shapes, how could I even think about an entire face? This uncertainty manifested by timidly dragging the lightest HB pencil across my paper. I wanted to remain patient, but knew this drew a long road ahead of me.
My teacher noticed I hadn’t touched the darker pencils. “Try some bolder strokes,” he suggested, “Then make it flow to other parts of your drawing.”
I tried that and was delighted with the results. Blending was significantly easier with darker pencils because the charcoal is softer as value increases. In general, art made me more open-minded to changing perspectives. People are malleable. Being soft in a rigid world makes you bolder.
I wasn’t perfectly trained using these new tools. Sometimes I would miscalculate and make an area on the jawline too intense or a new unplanned streak emerged from the hair. There, I arrived at art’s next lesson: things don’t always go as planned, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. I managed to remedy my mistakes. The jaw blended into new strands that fell on the sideburns.
After a month, patience proved to be a virtue to complete the portrait. From one project, I had discovered so much and found what I’d been lacking the previous class. Giving art another try washad been worth it.
I found myself sometimes comparing my work to my classmates’, but I quickly learned that was impossible to do. Their art and methods were vastly different from mine, and each of us had different strengths. Art exists in multiple mediums, but one doesn’t negate the other. It can’t. I preferred drawing while others liked to paint more. Everyone’s abilities and accomplishments are unique to them. No one can create your work like you can. Pay attention to your own progress.
The universe can be explained and cataloged with numbers, but art is what makes us human. Before writing was invented, we preserved stories by painting them on walls. Art endures to tell the tale of what people needed and loved. Art helps us observe, learn, and understand both ourselves and the world around us. My first and last piece from my senior year art class are hanging above my desk, side-by-side, to remind me.