Art, Life and Stuff

…in which Uncle Duke ingeniously explains the title.

 

            I have always admired art teachers.  There is something pure there, something uncluttered.  I have respect for all teachers actually, but classroom teachers are tied to a lot of facts, dates and theorems.  They are connected to the known world in a way which  is burdensome.  They have bags of information which they must hand out.  And it is their job, they are judged by how well their students give it back to them in the same form that they hand it out.

 

            Art is different.  There are no right answers, no wrong answers.  It is in fact a lot like life in that regard.  Which is why it is so little respected in the culture.  It is too hard to define, not quantifiable, difficult to test and grade.  For that reason, among others, kids who are poor students in the regular classroom can often excel at art.  Those who don’t read well sometimes combine shapes and colors in wonderful ways.  Those who don’t fit in socially can lose themselves in worlds of paint and clay.  It is a level field of imagination on which those who look at the world differently can excel.

           

            My friend David Lee is an art teacher.  We grew up together in my little town. And from the very beginning, it was apparent that David Lee was an artist.  I had some artistic inclinations my own self, but I managed to obscure them pretty well.  David Lee apparently didn’t have that option.

           

             It is not easy being an artist in a little town.  There are ways of doing things which have been accepted for generations.  Those who run counter to the prevailing culture are often seen as perversions of the natural order.  And artists tend to do things which go against the grain.

           

             As a for instance, David Lee had to cut the grass when he was a kid, just like we all did.  But he didn’t do it like the rest of us.  We all started on the outside and worked our way in, in nice little symmetric, decreasing rectangles.   Or back and forth in rows---the way the civilized world has always cut grass, the way God intended it.  David Lee would just pick a spot and wade in.  He’d start cutting spirals or parabolas or triangles, right out of the middle.  He’d mow for a while and then he’d go up to his room and look at it.  Sometimes he’d let it get good and high and do kind of a maze thing, what you could call a labyrinth.  Sometimes he’d write obscene words and other irreverent stuff you could only read from his room.  Once he did a very good likeness of Sr. Agnes Marie.  Life was just a big canvas for David Lee.

           

            They had a big yard in the center of town, and this didn’t go unnoticed.  As I said, it is a dangerous thing to go against established standard procedure in a small town.  It wasn’t long before David Lee had a nickname.  He became “Swirl”.  And the thing about nicknames in a small town is that pretty quick they become permanent.  An unfortunate quirk in the 3rd grade will follow you around for a lifetime and wind up on your headstone.  So “Swirl” he remains.  Originally it was not a complimentary nickname.  But over the years he has acquired some begrudged respect.  Primarily I suppose because he wasn’t ashamed by his tendencies, nor even embarrassed.  He was an Artist.  And he didn’t mind who knew.  That kind of honesty will get you respect. 

           

            It’s kind of a long, winding story, but David Lee went away and eventually came back and is now The Art Teacher in the local school.  He is responsible for the artistic development of 750 kids.  And by extension, the whole town really.  It is a responsibility that he takes very seriously.  He is a valued member of the community and recently built a house there.  It is a pretty unassuming little frame home on the outskirts of town.  From the outside you wouldn’t know it was The Art Teacher’s house except that the shutters are all different colors and the lawn is a little odd.  The inside is a different matter though.  David Lee considers concealed wiring and plumbing to be hypocritical, dishonest, like we’re ashamed of our inner workings.  In his house, the infrastructure is the exo-structure.  The pipes and wires are on the outside of the walls.  He has them painted different colors with vines growing up the water pipes and what looks kind of like cave paintings on the duct work.  The effect is pretty extraordinary.  There’s sure plenty to look at. 

           

            As The Art Teacher, David Lee has a tendency to latch on to troubled souls.  Sherman is just such a soul.  Large and disruptive, they’ve been trying to figure out what to do with him for years.  Now in the 7th grade, he’s pretty much raising himself and not doing a very good job of it.  He can barely read and passes into the next grade every year only because of a lack of acceptable alternatives.  He has however shown some fascination with art.  Even some aptitude.  He combines materials in curious ways, ways no one else would think of.  It doesn’t always work, but it at least indicates  that there is thought going on in there.  This is not always obvious.

           

            David Lee has been working with him on his class project.  Sherman had an idea for a piece combining braised copper and modeling clay.  They had started on it earlier in the year, but supervising Sherman is a lot more work than doing it yourself.  He is not terribly dependable, nor always open to suggestion.  Frankly, David Lee’s patience and energy had run thin.  There were in fact 749 other souls to shepherd.  But he did want Sherman to finish the project and had been applying some considerable pressure to that end.

           

            On the day of the deadline, the projects rolled in.  There were watercolors, acrylics, mosaics.  There was paper mache, carved balsa wood, baked clay and stretched fabric---some very good and some schlepped together.   But in each of them he could see some considerable parental involvement.  With his trained eye, he could see some bracing and structural blocking and polishing that wouldn’t have been there without some adult supervision.  Which was fine.  Art is after all a community project.  In the end it is about cooperation.

           

            That morning, David Lee caught sight of Sherman skulking out the door.  He called to him.  When he didn’t respond, he hustled after him and caught up with him in front of his locker.  “Where’s your project, Sherman?”  His posture was stiff.  Sherman was braced, defiant and ready for a fight.  “I don’t got a project.”  David Lee leaned in.  He was angry himself now.  He began to talk to him about responsibility and deadlines and grades.  His finger was in Sherman’s chest.  Suddenly, Sherman spun around and flung open his locker door.  Inside, on the floor of the locker, was a jumble of copper and clay, on an irregular base of 2x4’s with bent nails sticking out.  Sherman trembled in the middle of the hall, standing in the midst of his own humiliation and frustration.  “I tried,” he yelled.  “It didn’t work.  It sucks.”  He began to sob loudly.

 

            David Lee reached out for him and put his arms around him.  He held him strongly for a long time.  As he did, he looked over Sherman’s shoulder at the piece.  He had to admit that Sherman had critiqued his own work pretty well.  It did suck.  It was a mess.  Still, it was unique.  There were the beginnings of shape and form.  There was evidence of some imagination and thought.   It could work.  With some combined effort, some adult assistance, they could still maybe make the deadline.

 

            That’s the thing about art.  It’s not always a product.  It’s not always an award winner.  It’s more about process.  There is an idea, some conflict and sometimes even resolution.  It’s a lot like life.  It’s a lot like Sherman.  You never know how it’s going to turn out.