I originally intended this to be something bitter, but decided to save
the self-poisoning to another week, if any. Instead I’ll tell you about the
joy, the light that one feels as a well educated autodidact. Instead of telling
you about doors that are shut and barred, this should be on other doors that I’ve
opened myself, through work and study.
I took a little art at College, without much theory at all but a lot of
practice – coal on paper, mostly. I had this wonderful teacher who really only
gave me one advice – To Be Daring – and it has been the best advice that I ever
had, lasting unto this day.
Already in the words themselves one sees the difference between teaching
oneself and needing a teacher. Those who went to Art Schools
came to Art as pupils, per definition.
Pupil, says the dictionary, is Latin for a little boy, a pupillus. The pupil is someone that needs constant care and
supervision; sit still, learn this, shut up. But Art really hit me when I was a
Student. (I already was a perpetual student
of History and Philosophy, thus well prepared for autodidactics.) Studere – I don’t need the dictionary
for this – means to study something actively, perfectly voluntarily and rather
independently. The student needs a certain kind of zeal, she regards dusty old
truths with at least three fiercely hypercritical eyes; she needs endurance, imagination
and a mental flexibility to the point of yoga… I love students.
I took up practice, hard practice again. That’s the best thing one can
do. I also found good books on the subject: I recommend the thoroughly
methodical John Wilkinson and parts of Betty Edwards’ classic, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain – some of her exercises
are silly and some very educating. (Go through them all.)
I also took care to visit a few exhibitions and museums, notepad in
hand. Photographs rarely tell you how the brushstrokes wander and flow, you
seldom get to see details enough. (It was particularly enlightening to find a
few unfinished masterpieces at various stages of incompletion.) I enjoy talking
to other artists, giving and receiving opinions and hints. There’s always
something new to learn. But above all, I had to steal Time, practising time,
when Society thought that I was studying something “useful” or at least marginally
so or searching for a job that I didn’t want and didn’t know how to do. True freedom
always has to be stolen.
As an autodidact, there are many things that I don’t do by the book. I
could’ve been more methodical at times. But one also has the strength to say No
when the books and schools are entirely in up the blue, No to theories worth
doodley-squat. Everything that I’ve learned, through experiments, endless hours
with pens, brushes and whatnot, works.
A certain strength emanates from the fact and feeling that it was you who went
through all this and endured all that and persisted in order to get to your
present level. You own your skill.
I am allied to no posh art school, and consequently no gallerist owns me.
It is an economical weakness and a moral strength. Thus there has been nothing
to inflate my name or worth. My customers are mine, they came to me on their
own accord and I’ve never had to talk them into buying – I don’t know how to do
that. (I’ve kept to amoeba level marketing; sending out cards prior to
Vernissage to the regulars, bothering to keep a homepage etc.) You can’t
maintain gallery prices when you sell to ordinary people – but when they buy,
that’s proof enough that the works were worth every penny. To be an autodidact
is to be true.
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