I Went To Art School

I went to Art School. Here is my history. I was two years at Pratt Institute, two years at Syracuse University, and two years at the University of Massachusetts. After I got out with my masters degree I knew next to nothing.

I majored in printmaking for my masters degree. When I was finished with school I took all my best etchings and lithographs and woodcuts to the only gallery in my town and showed them to the director. It was my first such experience. The director looked through all my prints and separated them into two piles. When he was done he said, “I like these, and I don’t like those, indicating the two piles.” Then he added “If you have anymore of these I would like to see them.” He was referring to an old piece of cardboard in the bottom of my portfolio box that had been used for a few years to roll out the ink roller in the print room. It was simply an old piece of cardboard with a collection of random streaks of ink on it.

This was a confusing experience for me because a gallery director preferred an accidental accumulation of ink to my accumulated six years of art knowledge. The most difficult aspect was that I had to agree with him.

All this has next to nothing to do with my drawing, but I bet this drawing could easily stand it’s own against that piece of cardboard, but on the other hand it has that accidentalness built into it, without which things look lifeless and academic.