2008 Woodie Awards
Learning to draw
Danielle Stillman
Issue date: 10/11/07 Section: Opinion
- Page 1 of 1
I have never taken a class that has so valiantly tried to kill me as my Drawing II course.
Thinking about this class inspires a range of emotions-including fear, frustration, anxiety, and a desire to drive my car off a cliff instead of submit my work for a critique.
I am terribly self-conscious about my drawing ability-or lack thereof. I already know I cannot draw to save my life, much less make a good grade. Since I am completing my minor in photography, however, Glassell has decided I need two semesters of drawing classes. I do not personally need that much reinforcement to tell me that I am a terrible traditional artist, but maybe others do.
It does not help that I am surrounded by prodigies. While my classmates pin up the beautiful works of art they have created in preparation for this week's class, I feel about 3 years old. I pin up my pathetic attempts at still-life and play pretend. Today, Dani is an artist. Tomorrow, she will pretend to be a pony.
Every time I am in class, I feel like I am the only normal person in a room full of superheroes. How do they see the things that they do? Do they have some variety of mega-vision? How do their cups and plates look like they are ready for a tea party, while mine resemble gray lumps?
My inability to draw does not stem from any sort of failure on the teacher's part. On the contrary-the teacher has been incredibly patient with me and my shortcomings. At least, I think she is. Every time she gives me a correction, my ears fill with buzzing and her voice sounds like the teacher in the "Peanuts" cartoons.
I am not a slacker. I put all the time and effort into each drawing that I can muster, but I could spend an entire week on a drawing and it would still look amateurish.
Things usually come easy to me. I had a fairly boring childhood-I never lacked food or clothing, always had the same roof over my head and had a family that cared about me. In high school, I never really had to work for my grades. It was not until college that I had to start putting some sweat into my studies.
Drawing requires patience. Drawing requires attention to detail. It has forced me to slow down from my busy life, if only for a few hours a week, and as hard as it has been, the class has helped me form a significant quantity of character. Since reading and writing come naturally to me, I have never had to fight to learn something as I have in drawing class.
This year, especially, has forced me to learn the hardest things in life are often the most satisfying when they are completed, and drawing has been one component of that lesson. I will keep plugging away at my drawings for the remainder of the semester. The smallest improvements will be a huge source of pride.
Thinking about this class inspires a range of emotions-including fear, frustration, anxiety, and a desire to drive my car off a cliff instead of submit my work for a critique.
I am terribly self-conscious about my drawing ability-or lack thereof. I already know I cannot draw to save my life, much less make a good grade. Since I am completing my minor in photography, however, Glassell has decided I need two semesters of drawing classes. I do not personally need that much reinforcement to tell me that I am a terrible traditional artist, but maybe others do.
It does not help that I am surrounded by prodigies. While my classmates pin up the beautiful works of art they have created in preparation for this week's class, I feel about 3 years old. I pin up my pathetic attempts at still-life and play pretend. Today, Dani is an artist. Tomorrow, she will pretend to be a pony.
Every time I am in class, I feel like I am the only normal person in a room full of superheroes. How do they see the things that they do? Do they have some variety of mega-vision? How do their cups and plates look like they are ready for a tea party, while mine resemble gray lumps?
My inability to draw does not stem from any sort of failure on the teacher's part. On the contrary-the teacher has been incredibly patient with me and my shortcomings. At least, I think she is. Every time she gives me a correction, my ears fill with buzzing and her voice sounds like the teacher in the "Peanuts" cartoons.
I am not a slacker. I put all the time and effort into each drawing that I can muster, but I could spend an entire week on a drawing and it would still look amateurish.
Things usually come easy to me. I had a fairly boring childhood-I never lacked food or clothing, always had the same roof over my head and had a family that cared about me. In high school, I never really had to work for my grades. It was not until college that I had to start putting some sweat into my studies.
Drawing requires patience. Drawing requires attention to detail. It has forced me to slow down from my busy life, if only for a few hours a week, and as hard as it has been, the class has helped me form a significant quantity of character. Since reading and writing come naturally to me, I have never had to fight to learn something as I have in drawing class.
This year, especially, has forced me to learn the hardest things in life are often the most satisfying when they are completed, and drawing has been one component of that lesson. I will keep plugging away at my drawings for the remainder of the semester. The smallest improvements will be a huge source of pride.