Fears
“Fear is Pain” (Uta Grosnick, 2005, p. 45) claims Louise Bourgeois, a French born, but American working artist. I’ve always been drawn to artists who explore their emotions in their artwork, especially when one of those emotions is fear. As a young teen, I chose Fear as my AP concentration. I was drawn to the topic conceptually because, as a seventeen year old girl, I had several fears: death, failure, the future, pain, ostracization, rejection, the unknown, and even living.
I used to repeat the following from my favorite book: "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." (Frank Herbert, 1965/1984, p. 8)
I wish I had known about Louise Bourgeois when I was in high school. In her series “Personages and Destruction of the Father,” 1974, she created “cells.” They were based on actual prison cells, and she wanted: “Each cell [to tell] of fear. Fear is pain.” (Grosnick, 2005, p. 45) Unfortunately, my high school art classes and teachers did not branch out in the area of art history to include female and minority artists beyond the already famous ones. Art history books, Janson's History of Art: The Western Tradition, which I had for Art History AP, did not cover currently-working female artists or even conceptual work. The focus was on technically superior art that had historically focused subject matter. I did not get to study Bourgeois until later when I was learning about the inequalities represented in art history. According to The Guerrilla Girls (1998), “[Janson’s] History of Western art reduced centuries of artistic output to a bunch of white male masterpieces and movements, a world of ‘seminal’ and ‘potent’ art where the few women you hear about are white, and even they are rarely mentioned and never accorded a status anywhere near the big boys,” (p. 7). During my studies of art in graduate school, I was challenged to “name 10 famous female artists” (Dennis Earl Fehr, 1994/2010, Section 2, Chapter 7, para 5). I met the challenge, but it required much thought.
I could have used the inspiration of Bourgeois’s work to convey the goals of my Fear concentration. My perception of high school art as a haven of learning and artistic expression turned into what felt like a prison sentence. I found out quickly that my technical artistic skills could not convey the depth and breadth of my imagination and conceptual mind. I felt lacking compared to the other students in my AP class.
I began to question my life decision to be an artist. This was where my passion was but, since my skills were so lacking compared to others, I changed my focus from studio to wanting to major in art history and be a gallery owner or museum curator. I loved the history of art and knowing the meaning behind the paintings, sculptures, and such. It wasn’t creation, but it was near enough to creation as to be acceptable in my mind if not my soul.
Reflection: Fish Camp and First Day of Class.
I walk from the student center toward the Fine Arts building. I double check my fish camp schedule. Yes, I am supposed to be meeting with my advisor to plan my first semester. I also get to tentatively declare my major. Do I want to do art history? Do I want to do studio art? What kind of living can I make as a painter? I’m not that good though, I can’t do realism, realistically.
Can there be any more stairs? It’s so hot I’m going to die. The blast of super cold air hits me and freezes my clothes to my overheated but rapidly cooling body. “Great, there are no directional signs.” Somehow I find my way to the room, and I sit with others from my fish camp group for BFA majors. A professor walks in and hands me a school catalog. I flip to Major: Art History. My blood freezes. My stomach drops and knots as I read: "Minor: (required) Foreign Language.
If there is anything I’m even worse at than being able to create realism in an art piece, it’s being able to speak and understand a foreign language. After four years of French classes, I can read it, but speaking and understanding it spoken to me? Totally different story. Why do I have to be a visual learner? I’ll never be able to do a foreign language minor. Oh, God, what am I going to do now?
The advisor walks in the door. I recognize him from Texas Portfolio Day. I didn’t like him. Mainly because he was not complimentary about my work, and he made it clear to me that I wasn’t up to snuff. He is the head of the department. Oh no, is he my advisor? He announces he is there to advise us today and that we will be assigned an advisor second semester. Wow. I dodged the bullet on that one.
I talked to my now temporary advisor and admit I know I want a BFA, but I’m not sure if I want to major in Art History or Studio Art. He suggests: Take one art history course and one studio art course." I write down Art History Survey 1 and Drawing 100 on my schedule card. Maybe I can improve my drawing skills? Maybe.
Feeling ambiguous about my choices for my semester, I fill out the cheat sheet for the phone registration. I start dialing. Most of my choices are already taken. In the midst of frantically searching through the class catalog for other classes to take, I realize this must be because I’m at the last fish camp. Everything is full. I re-scan the art classes, Design 110: 2D design, I wonder if that is already full. I dial. Enter the code. “You are registered for Design 110: 2D design. MWF 9:00”
I exhale in relief. The panic of having to rearrange my schedule is leaving my body, only to be replaced with fear of my new choices. Would the math class I picked randomly be too hard? I look around at the other BFA majors. There are only two left besides myself. I grab my tote bag and prepare to head back into the bright sun and steaming heat.
***
What do I wear to class? I have my last day of sorority rush tonight. Everyone keeps asking if I’m “going suicide.” I don’t know what that means. I’ve been able to play it off with most of the other girls I’ve met. I don’t want anyone to know about my inexperience or naivety. How do they know what it is? I throw on a pair of jeans and a college tee. I close my door and lock it. I have no idea where my roommate is. She’s weird. I press the elevator door. The ninth floor… I wait….Check my watch…Wait…Check my watch again. “Forget this.” I head to the stairs. “I am NOT going to be late to my first class.” I run down the stairs counting them as I go. Step out of the stair well. Great, now I’m all sweaty. I hope I don’t stink. God, what if I do stink? The people next to me will smell me. They’ll hate me.
I open the doors of the dorm and step out into the already sweltering morning. Never mind; everyone is going to be sweaty. I cross the walk and head toward the art building. Thank God it’s so close to my dorm. At least this time I know where I’m going since I took the time at fish camp to find all of the classes on my schedule.
I approach the art buildings and walk down the stairs. I see a bunch of students talking and laughing. They’re friends; they all know each other. I don’t know anyone. I head inside the classroom and sit up front as is my habit. I check my watch; it’s 8:45. My middle school band director’s quote echoes in my mind, “To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late.” Well, at least I'm on time.
Other people come in. I recognize one girl from Rush. She was at the Delta Zeta pref party with me. I turn around hopeful to make my first friend. Everyone gets quiet because the professor walks in with a bicycle and sets it up on the front desk. I turn back around to face him, slightly embarrassed.
“I want 3 designs based on this bike. Due Friday. Don’t draw the bike, design only.” He walks out.
Don’t draw the bike? How do you do that? Is he going to explain further? What do I do? Ok, don’t “draw” the bike. Can I draw parts of the bike?
I look around at the other students. Some look as lost as I do. Ok, that’s a good sign. I flip open my sketch pad. Grab a pencil. The professor walks back in. Someone to my left asks, “Can we draw parts of the bicycle to incorporate into our design?”
“Yes.”
Whew. I’m glad someone else asked that. I didn’t want to have to draw attention to myself on the first day. It’s bad enough I’m the only one sitting in the first row.
Meta-autoethnography:
One of my favorite inspirational authors Danny Gregory (2006), says, “Too many people seem to feel they are not, and cannot ever be, creative,” (p. 1). I found out in the next few classes that I could be a designer, and that was a part of creating art. That one class reaffirmed my faith in art, and I learned I had a natural eye for design. “By letting go of preconceived ideas about art-making and tapping into [a] unique reserve of creative energy, [I was able] to explore new horizons in [my] work,” (Dean Nimmer, 2008, p 11). Now, I just needed to strengthen my drawing skills.
Over the next few years in undergraduate, I took several drawing classes because one of the most basic creative skills is drawing. “It’s a skill that takes minutes to learn but a lifetime to master.” (Gregory, 2006, p. 20) I have yet to master that media, but I am more proficient now than I was when I was seventeen.
However, sometimes of the many old fears, only failure and rejection remain. I thought I had buried them all in high school and as a freshman in college. Yet they still surface when I have to demonstrate my skills to other art teachers or even my students. I still feel the stigma of not having the ability to do exact photo realism with my drawing.
I realize that my inner critic is the voice I need to silence the most. I am an artist. At the age of thirty one, I need to own that statement. I need to let go of my fears. I need to embrace my strengths and weaknesses. Expectations have been set by the generations of hard working female artists before me. They paved the way for me. “What would western art history be without Gentileschi, Bonheur, Lewis, Kahlo…? What would contemporary art be without all the great women artists of the last few decades? Let’s make sure that, generations from now, we never have to find out,” (The Guerrilla Girls, 1998, p 91). I feel I need to live up to their example. In the spirit of The Guerrilla Girls (1998), I will value my work, I will exhibit, and I will preserve mine and other female artists’ work (p. 91).
References:
Fehr, Dennis Earl. (2010). Dogs Playing Cards: Powerbrokers of Prejudice in Education, Art, and Culture (3rd ed.). New York: Peter Lang Publishing Inc. (Original work published 1994)
Gregory, Danny. (2006). The Creative License. New York: Hyperion.
Grosnick, Uta. (Ed.). (2005). Women Artists in the 20th and 21st Century. London: Taschen.
Herbert, Frank. (1984). Dune (35th ed.). New York: The Berkley Publishing Group. (Original work published 1965)
Nimmer, Dean. (2008). Art from Intuition: Overcoming your fears and obstacles to making art. New York: Watson-Guptill Publications.
The Guerrilla Girls. (1998). The Guerrilla Girls' Bedside Companion to the History of Western Art. Middlesex, UK: Penguin Books.
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