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Background
There comes a point in everyone’s life when they ask, “How did I get here?” As an art educator pursuing a master’s degree, I have asked myself this question a lot! I also find myself wondering, “Have I made the best choice?” and “Is this what I am supposed to be doing?” Choosing the field of art education has been a difficult choice, and it still is a struggle. I would rather pursue my own artwork, but the tug at my heartstrings tells me that I am exactly where I need to be.
I was born into an “art friendly” family. My dad is the pinnacle of my influence, and I believe I will always consider him so. His parents came from very humble beginnings, but treasured many unique items that my grandfather found on his barge travels up and down the Ohio or Mississippi rivers. While spending the occasional week during the summer in Indiana, my grandmother would spend hours with me at the piano or at the kitchen table oooing and ahhing over Italian Renaissance paintings or the latest artwork in Reader’s Digest. I would return home with treasures such as art books, posters, and antiques. My aesthetic choices are due mainly to my grandparents.
Being a very hyperactive child, I ended up spending a lot of time in my bedroom, grounded. When my dad arrived home, he would visit me with silly putty, modeling clay, or some cartoon he drew. Most of the items he would bring home were from his engineering job where he designed products. The materials always smelled industrial and I could just imagine a group of grown men playing with modeling clay all day. Weekends were spent working on model cars and sometimes he would get his college art tackle box, that reeked of oil paint and let me use the materials. After explaining each item’s purpose with a brief demonstration, we would make something together. Whenever I visit my parents, my dad and I always work on a project together or at least plan for the next one.
Art Teachers
Elementary school was hard for me, until my teachers realized I was artistically “gifted.” I talked too much and could not stay still unless I was doodling or engrossed in a hands-on project. As a teacher, I relate to my students that struggle as I did, and I try to help them.
My earliest memory of an art teacher is Mrs. Jordan, a tall, quiet redhead with freckles; she was so pretty and I wanted to be her. She would ask me to bring egg-cartons for paint and we would have class in the basement. I switched schools and had to wait until fourth grade to have art class with Mrs. Worrel, the woman in black. She was unlike anyone I had ever seen and I only had her once a month, but I still have my portfolio from her class. Mrs. Worrel exhibited my artwork and gave me my first award.
Middle school had art in an exploratory rotation, so I did not have much opportunity for enrichment. However, Mr. Pruner, my history teacher was my art outlet. He loved to draw and allowed me to use my drawing skills for extra credit.
When I started high school, I took advanced art by mistake and learned a lot from the seniors in the class. By the end of my freshman year, I found I was moving to another state and despite my advanced art credit, ended up in a regular art class. Between the culture shock of my new school and the disappointing art curriculum, I was not happy.
After high school, I had no idea that there were colleges specifically made for the pursuit of art, let alone what it took to get in. My art teacher could not even tell me what a portfolio was, and my guidance counselors did not bother to tell me about the SAT or ACT. I decided then that I wanted to help others that had a similar experience, an idea that would later come to fruition.
College
Luckily, my mother worked at a local university and I tested and applied there against my will. I was going to major in classical guitar with a minor in medical drawing. Neither of those worked out because Mr. Mallard, the chair of the art department, was my advisor. He wanted me to major in art and signed me up for his drawing class. Then came the 3D-design course and something clicked, I told Mr. Mallard that I wanted to take every course that I could literally get my hands on. I declared my major and never looked back.
The courses that entailed any hands-on activity were ceramics and sculpture. Mr. Benson, the most intimidating man I had ever met, would be my professor for the next three and a half years. This professor had a reputation for breaking people, weeding out the weak, and making people cry. He fulfilled his reputation, but he was exactly the mentor I needed. I fell in love with ceramics and grew as a person as well as an artist because of his classes. Mr. Benson practiced what he preached which was an extremely diligent work ethic. During my fourth year of college, I had an epiphany about my minor and switched to education, which led to another year and a half of classes. My professors did not want me to pursue education and instead encouraged me to apply to graduate school for a M.F.A.
The art education experience has been bittersweet. My art teacher mentors were wonderful and really pushed me, but are extremely jaded. The professors that are like family still shake their heads and ask me when I am going to quit. From my perspective I am doing the very best I can, and my students will know and benefit from my work ethic. I hope that this will excite a new generation into viewing art education in a more positive way.
There comes a point in everyone’s life when they ask, “How did I get here?” As an art educator pursuing a master’s degree, I have asked myself this question a lot! I also find myself wondering, “Have I made the best choice?” and “Is this what I am supposed to be doing?” Choosing the field of art education has been a difficult choice, and it still is a struggle. I would rather pursue my own artwork, but the tug at my heartstrings tells me that I am exactly where I need to be.
I was born into an “art friendly” family. My dad is the pinnacle of my influence, and I believe I will always consider him so. His parents came from very humble beginnings, but treasured many unique items that my grandfather found on his barge travels up and down the Ohio or Mississippi rivers. While spending the occasional week during the summer in Indiana, my grandmother would spend hours with me at the piano or at the kitchen table oooing and ahhing over Italian Renaissance paintings or the latest artwork in Reader’s Digest. I would return home with treasures such as art books, posters, and antiques. My aesthetic choices are due mainly to my grandparents.
Being a very hyperactive child, I ended up spending a lot of time in my bedroom, grounded. When my dad arrived home, he would visit me with silly putty, modeling clay, or some cartoon he drew. Most of the items he would bring home were from his engineering job where he designed products. The materials always smelled industrial and I could just imagine a group of grown men playing with modeling clay all day. Weekends were spent working on model cars and sometimes he would get his college art tackle box, that reeked of oil paint and let me use the materials. After explaining each item’s purpose with a brief demonstration, we would make something together. Whenever I visit my parents, my dad and I always work on a project together or at least plan for the next one.
Art Teachers
Elementary school was hard for me, until my teachers realized I was artistically “gifted.” I talked too much and could not stay still unless I was doodling or engrossed in a hands-on project. As a teacher, I relate to my students that struggle as I did, and I try to help them.
My earliest memory of an art teacher is Mrs. Jordan, a tall, quiet redhead with freckles; she was so pretty and I wanted to be her. She would ask me to bring egg-cartons for paint and we would have class in the basement. I switched schools and had to wait until fourth grade to have art class with Mrs. Worrel, the woman in black. She was unlike anyone I had ever seen and I only had her once a month, but I still have my portfolio from her class. Mrs. Worrel exhibited my artwork and gave me my first award.
Middle school had art in an exploratory rotation, so I did not have much opportunity for enrichment. However, Mr. Pruner, my history teacher was my art outlet. He loved to draw and allowed me to use my drawing skills for extra credit.
When I started high school, I took advanced art by mistake and learned a lot from the seniors in the class. By the end of my freshman year, I found I was moving to another state and despite my advanced art credit, ended up in a regular art class. Between the culture shock of my new school and the disappointing art curriculum, I was not happy.
After high school, I had no idea that there were colleges specifically made for the pursuit of art, let alone what it took to get in. My art teacher could not even tell me what a portfolio was, and my guidance counselors did not bother to tell me about the SAT or ACT. I decided then that I wanted to help others that had a similar experience, an idea that would later come to fruition.
College
Luckily, my mother worked at a local university and I tested and applied there against my will. I was going to major in classical guitar with a minor in medical drawing. Neither of those worked out because Mr. Mallard, the chair of the art department, was my advisor. He wanted me to major in art and signed me up for his drawing class. Then came the 3D-design course and something clicked, I told Mr. Mallard that I wanted to take every course that I could literally get my hands on. I declared my major and never looked back.
The courses that entailed any hands-on activity were ceramics and sculpture. Mr. Benson, the most intimidating man I had ever met, would be my professor for the next three and a half years. This professor had a reputation for breaking people, weeding out the weak, and making people cry. He fulfilled his reputation, but he was exactly the mentor I needed. I fell in love with ceramics and grew as a person as well as an artist because of his classes. Mr. Benson practiced what he preached which was an extremely diligent work ethic. During my fourth year of college, I had an epiphany about my minor and switched to education, which led to another year and a half of classes. My professors did not want me to pursue education and instead encouraged me to apply to graduate school for a M.F.A.
The art education experience has been bittersweet. My art teacher mentors were wonderful and really pushed me, but are extremely jaded. The professors that are like family still shake their heads and ask me when I am going to quit. From my perspective I am doing the very best I can, and my students will know and benefit from my work ethic. I hope that this will excite a new generation into viewing art education in a more positive way.