Making art cannot be taught. What can be taught are techniques in artmaking; how to use certain media or tools effectively, the right kinds of supports (surfaces on which to paint or draw) depending on media, or procedures for optimal results. No one can be taught how to make art. Making art is an amalgamation (I daresay) of the understanding of the elements of art and the principles of design, facility with media and techniques, and most importantly having something to say. That latter condition is very important, otherwise the thing is simply decoration. As a consequence, good art is like a good poem with something worthwhile to say, articulated well.
A bottle decorated prettily is not art. I hazard to say that it is likely that those who present decorated bottles (pretty or not) as art have not bothered to study this art thing with any depth. Had they done so, they would understand that art speaks and a decorated bottle says nothing. Art may speak to its formal aspects or it may speak of something worldly or personal. It may speak with depth or superficialness. Nonetheless, it speaks. Art has a history of transformations. So, no objections to discarded materials being used in the making of art. Picasso and the bicycle handle and seat turned into a bull’s head is my favourite example of found things being elevated to art. Picasso explained that he found the two together in a jumble pile and immediately his mind made the transformation. He welded the two together and today the results continue to tickle the imagination. Who would have thought the thing that gave comfort to one’s bottom and the thing that gave stability when balanced on two wheels in a line could together yield the bull the matador may one day contend with in the bull ring? But Picasso was a lover of the sport and bulls reappear in his work.
One cannot be taught how to be an artist. Instead, one may be taught how to look and again, techniques to translate objects of sight, and the substances of thought, and emotion into form. Thus, funding of art programmes should not be done with the expectation of a direct one-to-one relationship between the intake and the output. Somewhere along the journey, folks sometimes realise this art thing is not for them – many techniques must be learned and time must be given for mastery. And again, art must say something. And alas, if one is not careful, one will tell snippets of one’s life to those who look at what is made. Neither prospect may be entirely attractive because content must be sought through life or learning and ultimately a level of reveal is possible.
I get worried when I see events advertised claiming that in two or three hours someone with a casual interest in art or even a fondness for art, prettily or dandily dressed, perhaps with a glass of wine in hand will make art. What are they making in two or three hours as they sip and paint or as they transform plastic bottles into – as organisers call it – “art”? The images I see on social media do not quell my anxiety. Instead, the photographs announcing the organiser’s triumph, justify my disdain for these events. The pictures often reveal a paint-by-numbers affair with no yielding to imagination and spontaneity. or craft bottles that say nothing beyond the evident decoration.
I often wonder, what greater understanding of art and its processes does someone gain in these events? Art-making takes time! Not only does it require time, but it also requires careful consideration of the results as the work progresses, even with the dripped, poured, and splattered painting. It requires accepting when the clay object yields to your hand but blows up in the kiln and when the idea one deliberated on just cannot work the way one intended so reconceptualising is required. Artmaking is not a light and easy process. Sorry to say. It involves questioning oneself sometimes unintentionally to the point of disabling one’s progress. It might involve making something and hiding it away from oneself and others, and it may mean working on something for a while to leave it aside for years then returning to make the last marks. Alas, the conundrum is no more – the work is finished. It may mean working on something that collapses before it can be made final and un-collapsible.
When I see these events advertised I wonder how many artists are offended. But then again, the definition of the artist is as elusive as the definition of art. I wonder how many would find the idea of something called trash, garbage, or refuse being refashioned to make a thing called art concerning. I wonder how many find these gestures a devaluation of what they studied (formally or not), what they live, and what they sacrifice to be able to do. Likewise, with the sip and paint, I wonder how many bona fide artists find this characterisation of our processes obnoxious. Art is easy! No, it is not! It is a messy, poverty-inducing act! Wine is not needed to create in the studio but to ease the strain on nerves, mind, and body after time spent in the studio. Wine might also be needed to maintain the insanity of a return to the studio to make, to go against oneself, to realise the error of doing so, and to listen to oneself. Wine may be needed to celebrate battles won – good progress, and the final victory – perhaps the work really is done. Wine, I hazard to say, is not the elixir of creative output.
