Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Art (01/18/07)
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TITLE: I am not an artist | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tahlia Merrill
01/20/07 -
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I knew I was doomed on the first day, when our art teacher—Mrs. Fuller—handed out paper and pencils to us and told us to draw our shoes from memory—no peeking under the table. I knew what my shoes looked like—I still remember—they were terra cotta brown, leather, and had flat bottoms. The only problem was that my pencil didn’t. Every stroke I made, I erased. I tried to lean over my paper so the girl next to me couldn’t see how smudged my paper had become. After ten minutes of frustration, the teacher told us to stop. To my relief, she did not ask to collect the drawings. Instead, she explained to us that the point of the exercise was to show us that not all people are artistic. She went on to ask for a show of hands of everyone who was completely dreading the upcoming year in her class. My hand shot up, along with several of my other classmates. We were then told that this class was about learning how to draw. She promised to grade on effort as much as she could. To my surprise, she was true to her word. Throughout the entire year, I learned the technique behind art. My teacher helped me to take what I was seeing and make my hand guide my pencil in the right way. I learned that if you want to make the railroad tracks look like they are fading off into the horizon, you have to bring the two lines closer together. I learned that if you want something to look more realistic, you have to use shading. It was far from easy—I struggled every single day—and I never created any masterpieces, but I improved. I left that class at the end of the year with a realization that just because you’re not good at something doesn’t mean that you can’t learn how to do it. But beyond that, I learned just how much of a difference an excellent teacher can make.
My art teacher that year was so patient with all my complaining. She knew I was working as hard as I could. She knew that I wanted so badly to produce something that I could be proud of. More importantly, though, she spoke my language! She knew that I didn’t do well with abstracts and so she taught me rules and techniques. The very next year that I had a spot in my schedule available, I signed up to take another art class with her. When my guidance counselor commented that he hadn’t known that I could paint, I told him that I couldn’t—I wanted to take the class because I knew that Mrs. Fuller would teach me how.
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