Say what you may about the above statement; but a year and a half of intensive critiques, submissions, and rejections did not teach me anything about my art. It just revalidated something I already knew; the world is harsh and cruel. Reject my art, fine, show me what I did wrong? What I did not know then but can see as clearly as daylight now, is that art professors are only interested in getting paid and hopefully assist the pupils that they deem gifted. I did rather well in art school, but what of the rest?
My grievances are not for the other patient altruistic professionals that taught me. My complaint is toward one, the most crucial of all; the professor that tried to teach me how to draw.
How this professor was able to teach us how we can identify a painter by the style and direction of their strokes and not see that many of students were submitting work by others is beyond me. I say good on them. I was too naïve to try such a thing; I genuinely wanted to learn how to draw. My professor thought I was lazy; but I had no idea what I was doing; a line here, a line above that. Crosshatch, it’s not a creative choice; there’s a purpose to those lines—they’re a gauge for more-or-less light.
Forget that, everything above, make your own mistakes, be wild. Don’t pay for an education in art. Whatever you’ve figured out on your own is probably better than what will come out of four or more years of intensive scrutiny. The best photos I ever made were the ones that I made by following my instincts. The best drawings I ever made are the ones that I make now.