As a trainee or professional artist, nothing beats seeing art in person and seeing lots and lots of it. I am always surprised as an art educator when, on first encounters, my students tell me they have never been to the National Gallery of Art (NGA), Castellani House or that it has been such a long time that they cannot recall when they last visited. And these kinds of admissions were not due to Covid closures, as they were made before Covid raised its troublesome head.
Just as surprising, has been my students’ inability to identify local artists (who do not teach them) or works by local artists (again, who do not teach them), past or present. I usually understand this to mean that they are not looking at art in the flesh and that perhaps they are only doing so mediated by someone’s photographic skills (or lack thereof) and a screen. I usually don’t assume they are looking at art in artbooks or similar printed formats. Why? Because there is a misguided notion that to study art means one does not need to read and instead one spends one’s time drawing and painting and tapping into one’s inner consciousness, whiling time away. After all, it is the student who does not show a strong inclination towards academic subjects who is sent to the CSEC Visual Art classroom (if not the Technical Drawing classroom). But effective art, past and present, has been grounded in intellect and intelligence. Without it, the work will be vapid.
Why the maligning of the arts in Guyana? The arts add flavour to life. But proclivities to the arts are not nurtured in the young when it is optimal to do so. For instance, art and music are scarce in the classrooms, especially at the primary levels. Recently, I was pondering the case of a primary-aged girl who was performing poorly in school but whose improvement in her academic subjects showed a strong positive correlation with her independent involvement in the arts. Excelling in her artistic endeavours gave her the confidence that she could excel at the tested subjects.
I think of my term teaching at a primary school years ago and my absolute dislike of the experience. My students were required to remain seated and quietly draw or paint. My inability to have them meet this expectation meant I was called into the Headteacher’s Office. Funny that the only time I was ever called into a Headteacher’s Office was as the Art Teacher who allowed the children to get out of their seats and to interact, albeit quietly, as they worked under the watchful eye of the Class Teacher who used my session to get caught up with the backlog of marking, or perhaps the register.
I think of the aforementioned primary-aged girl and note that she draws and paints remarkably well and that she is in fact, self-taught through looking at actual art, reading about art, and exploring the internet. I think of her curiosity and passion for art and fear that the scales of intelligence and academic success are not in her favour. I think of the young classical musician, the young opera singer, and the young ballroom dancer who gained national visibility in their countries and I think none of that will happen for Guyana because Maths, English, Social Studies, and Science are what matter in our primary education system and at the secondary level, arts education is sporadic with specialisation in visual art for the “academically disadvantaged” student.
I am unable to think of any visual artist whose work is worth accolades and public excitement, who lacks intelligence or only possesses that mysterious special intelligence assumed to be exclusive to artists. Admittedly, some of us can articulate our thoughts better than others with words. But those for whom words fail, the visual expression takes over. To make good art, one must be fed and fed from multiple sources and preoccupations. The work must be fed by looking, reading, listening, being invested in life, and the meanings and possibilities of art. Art must speak using its language effectively and the artist must be cognisant of the multiple roles available to him/her. So, when student artists tell me they have not visited the NGA or have not done so in a while, I wonder how they are feeding their art. Looking is one of the easiest and richest ways of feeding one’s practice and the NGA, Castellani House is a great place to do so. Looking involves considering the surfaces of a canvas for instance very closely.
Indeed, the National Gallery of Art has its problems but one thing it is not short on is good art and some of it is delightfully world-class! So, I lament every time I approach the formidably high and closed gate. I point to my destination – Burnham’s former official residence turned into a needed art space. A khaki-uniformed guard with what I can only guess is an automatic rifle opens the gate to allow entry. As I walk or drive past him, I pause to use my voice and include the word “Gallery”. I worry that if I don’t he may raise his gun my way. I continue on my journey relieved that I don’t somehow pose a threat to him. I admit, scenes run in my head as on a movie screen. But I’m here for the art. And the space often feels fraught with tension. Men in khaki uniforms are glimpsed and I feel in an odd semi-militarised zone. I don’t actually feel I belong, but I press on because of my love for art and the gems that may be on display which are much too enticing.
Once upon a time, our every move within the gallery was monitored by a guard dressed in grey. I have clear recollections of being watched like a hawk as I pondered the art. I endured this incursion on my looking at art, as it was the job of the folks dressed in grey to ensure I touched nothing. One day I could not suffer the hyper-vigilance any longer and asked that I not be closely followed. Today those guards in grey are no longer there. I wonder whether the supposed secret service building east of the gallery is providing some other kind of surveillance of the art. Probably not! On a recent visit, I commented on the heat in the exhibition space and the closed windows. The attendant explained that in being alone monitoring the space, the open windows posed a threat of theft. This made sense. And while the windows were closed against one unlikely threat, the art was also protected from the omnipresent dust in the air and microscopic things that were there. But alas, art needs temperature control. Closing the windows protects the art from unauthorised removal and coincidentally the elements in the air. But art also needs protection from our extreme heat and the occasional fluctuation to cooler temperatures which can cause expansion and contraction of the materials from which the artwork is made. We do need air conditioners (and a standby generator for when power fails) to maintain the National Collection of Art in safe conditions for generations now and for those yet to come.
Akima McPherson is a multimedia artist, art historian, and educator
