Beau Smith working at Pinetree Studios
How did I get into art school? What was that all about? Nobody ever asks me such questions. But my friend, Allen, wanted me to blog about it. So here goes.
I grew up in a family of artists. My grandmother on my father’s side was a professional watercolorist. My dad, like me, is a metal sculptor. When I was fifteen or sixteen, somewhere abouts, I participated in a group show with my dad and grandmother. I had four detailed drawings on a wall, this to complement my father’s sculpture and my grandmother’s paintings. A reporter and photographer came. The newspaper came out with a picture of me, my grandmother, and my father posing in front of one of his sculptures. I had major stars in my eyes. One can see that in the photograph. At least I can. I wanted to be an artist. Since then I’ve had second thoughts. A little too late now. This is what I do. This is what I am.
My mother and my grandmother – the watercolorist – supported this crazy idea to spend a lot of money going to a great art school where I would learn anything but how to make money. But I was game. I had stars in my eyes and not a wit of sense. Really, that’s not so great a combination. That said, art school was a fantastically wonderful and expensive experience. But, what do they say? You get what you pay for.
I looked through catalogs and went to a portfolio day. The portfolio day was held in Columbia and I had to travel there from Charleston (SC). My mother came with me. But I did not stay in the same hotel as my mother did. I went to see this woman… But that’s a different story. Anyway, the point of the matter I guess is that I did do some research and even traveled about to discover what great art school was going to be the lucky recipient of yours truly as a student. I may not have said that correctly. But who cares? This is a blog.
I finally decided on RISD: Rhode Island School of Design. I’ve got to say, I love that school. I really do. And I love the experience I had there. Everything except the borrowing money to go there part. And the owing money afterwards. That was not so fun, either.
It took me two tries to get in there. That’s two years. I didn’t get in the first time I applied. What!? I agree. That’s what I said. What?! What kind of art school is this anyway not to recognize my talent? Well, I will say this: the second time I applied, I took EXTRA care with the drawings I had to submit. I think it is still true you have to submit three drawings to get into RISD. You also have to tell them how you are doing in high school or maybe the college you are at when you apply. And you may have some other details, such as the number to your safe deposit box if you have one and definitely your bank account, complete with routing number. Okay, I’m just kidding about that. But I’m not kidding about the drawings. They save them, by the way. As I understand it, all the members of the Talking Heads went to RISD. So I’m thinking RISD still has the drawings they submitted to get into there. Might be worth some money. And I do know RISD – and other art schools – care about money. You might not – yet. But darn tootin’ the art school sure does.
I think my best drawing was a boot. Yeah, an old shoe. As I recall, this was the most specific request in what the school asked for. They wanted a drawing of a boot. They also wanted a concept drawing: something like, “Draw a picture of ‘flow.’” Something like that. Or rather, now that I think of it, they wanted a drawing of “release.” Or something to that effect. And then another drawing, a third drawing, and I don’t remember what it was. It may have been I was asked to make any sort of drawing I liked. Now, on retrospect, it looks as though that was the least memorable drawing I created. Let that be a lesson: Be careful when asked to do whatever you like. You may end up doing something very crappy. Sad but true, limitation is the mother of invention.
The boot was the best. The metaphor sings to me now. I was taking a step forward. I may have even had that thought when I got accepted. That boot got me in. Didn’t boot me out. Booted me in. I could go nuts with the boot metaphor. Boot camp and so forth. Bootie. Okay. Enough with the boot.
I was proud of the drawing. I had the feeling that, if anything could get me in, it was that drawing of the boot. I put so much into that drawing and I knew it was good. Then you have to fold the damn thing so it fits in the package they have for you to submit the drawings in. It’s like, the school is telling you right up front: You can try your hardest and think you are so talented you such and such, but, just like everyone else, you are going to have to fold your very special work of art so it fits in the package. That’s what we think of your drawing.
Somewhere RISD has folded up drawings by the members of the Talking Heads. I wonder if those drawings would be worth more if they weren’t folded. See, that’s what you get for tormenting a poor high school kid trying to apply to your school. One of them is going to make valuable art, and you’re going to wreck its value. And I thought RISD was supposed to have this great museum and all. But it doesn’t have a non-folded up collection of Talking Heads drawings from their art school days.
The second time I applied I got on their waiting list. What?! I agree. That’s what I said. What kind of school is this anyway? What I didn’t have going for me was that I wasn’t a rich kid. Also, I was out-of-state. And, before you want to clock me, rich kids, please don’t. I think it would be fantastically wonderful to have wealthy parents send you to art school. I didn’t have that, but it would have been great. Plus, I wouldn’t have had to borrow. Or, the part that comes afterward that I like even less: owe.
But the day came – it was nearing the summer – when I received the acceptance letter. I was so proud and happy. Really, I was. I had no concern about the money it was going to cost. I had stars in my eyes and not a wit of sense. I think I said that already, but it bears repeating.
Having harped on the money thing, I feel I should say something to make all those kids with stars in their eyes who are planning to go to art school feel better about spending the money… Nahhh.
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
What an interesting perspective! I’m sorry the debt is no fun. Was it worth it? Do you like what you do now? // My family supported me thru college; I didn’t know what I wanted, so I took the most general, practical route. Business administration. In my Junior year I had an art class and the instructor took me aside and said I could be good, and it was the first time I ever felt anything. I’d made A’s and B’s in every subject all my life, and never felt proud or excitement stir my soul. But I made a decision at that point. Recognize the love, but complete the practical route. And 20 years later, I am still trying to adjust the reigns of my life away from the practical, and toward the love. The value of Time…
Hey Cindy. Debt is no fun. True. The school itself was loads of fun. I wouldn’t have traded that experience for the money I paid. Plus, I’m almost paid off by now and it has only been – how many years? – let’s see, I graduated in ’85. Only 25 years.
I guess the point I was making is to make damn sure you think about money. Do so in a positive way. Sure, a lot of us get caught in the conundrum of money vs. fun. That’s a conundrum we all have to figure out. Beceoming an artist does not solve that problem any more than becoming a lawyer or whatever does. I think the solution has much to do with abundance. Are you willing to “have it all”? Or do you have to make sacrifices. And yet we all do have to make sacrifices along the way. The best is when those sacrifices can be positive, such as sacrificing the need to be entitled or superior or whatever negative aspect of personality that needs to be handled.
It seems to me that money has been a dirty word to artists for a long time. I think that is, and should be, changing. Money is a means of value and exchange, a tool. If those who sing with beauty and grace choose not to follow money, they might also not reach an audience. And that audience will miss out on the deep stirring of their soul, instead buying into the voices that the mass media market provides.
Cindy…You hit a great vein of resonation with me…is there not a great yearning for that which is made locally that stirs the soul? Why should we sit buy and take what is simmered down for a national and international audience when the spicy stuff is right here in the hood!
1800s in U.S. – real need motivates men and women. Both work as team in defined roles to survive and colonize. World War II, women go to work in factories and play softball in leagues (I’m seeing a poster and a movie here.) Vietnam and Korea, East meets West. 60′s, East meets West big time in our culture. Huge explosion of creativity and burn out. Several decades of introspection, feuds between the men and women, left and right brains, have versus be. 90′s, East meets West again. Karate, Feng-shui, massage become mainstream. Chi is revered. People lose touch with Christianity. And things become easy. The fall of Rome. Where is the sense of purpose and group mission? // Now is the time to take the lessons and culture of our grandparents and great-grandparents, with the recent learnings from our cultural revolutions, and weave and merge. Globalization. I propose a game of War. Let’s make individual flash cards of our loved and despised global traditions, take a really diverse group, and play the children’s game of war, voting to see which card trumps which. Then we can walk away with apple pie and chi, baseball and silent applause. I have the laminator and cards, if you have the people. (Though this would be super cool on a computer with a global audience providing input and feedback.)
And I’ll think about the local spicy you brought up. I haven’t bought into that yet. There is a societal view that I’m used to that says that smart things come from NY City and the CIA, and that dummer things come from the local levels. // I will tell you that I can see the value of individual-individual connections versus individual-mass media connections. // In any case, I’ll meditate on this. Thank you, as always, for your active concern and seeds for thought.