Previously, I wrote that anyone can be an artist if they want it enough. I know this to be true because, for more than a decade, I had the privilege of helping some inspirational groups of home-ed students to explore their creativity. Typically, these young people had been brought to my workshops by a parent or guardian, so I was usually met with varying degrees of enthusiasm—initially.
After a few sessions, I would begin to observe a change. Those who had at first resisted encouragement, insisting they couldn’t draw or hated art, gradually lost their frowns and instead began to furrow their brows in concentration. Sometimes I would even detect a smile. The young woman who, during her first session, could not make a mark unless I was standing next to her making suggestions, slowly started to discover her creative independence. The young man who would screw up every piece he made because it wasn’t perfect, gradually began to accept his explorations and experiments for what they were – footsteps on a pathway – and his imperfect work was then filed in his folder as tangible evidence of how far he’d traveled.
Frequently it was the participants who had, at the start, confidently professed their love of art and seemed so secure in their ability, that grew increasingly resistant to my suggestions. I found this confusing until I realized that their certainties were being challenged with every new process I introduced them to, each new exploration embarked upon. As they moved further from their comfort zones (their established areas of competence or even expertise) their self-image as ‘the artist of the family’ became increasingly threatened.
I have seen similar responses when teaching workshops for adults. In one still life class, a woman suddenly burst into tears. I was shocked and concerned because it was very early on in the session and, up until that point, I had only made a few gentle suggestions about the importance of drawing what we see, not what we know. When I asked her why she was so upset, she replied, “I had always thought I was good at drawing!”
Eventually, the penny dropped, that teaching technique was only a small part of my role. I was supporting people in developing an acceptance of uncertainty and the courage to follow their curiosity. Confidence is a key component in becoming and sustaining a life as an artist. Almost without exception, as my workshop participants grew to trust me, slowly coming to the realization that I would never judge their work (and by extension, them), they began to relax and take risks. As self-belief grew alongside their newfound technical proficiency, our regular explorations, while still occasionally confronting and boundary-testing, became fun, exciting, and a little bit addictive for some. It’s the reason I carried on teaching long past the point of burnout. But that’s a story for another time.
