It was my first year in an AP art class. I didn’t know what to expect. The first assignment was to research ten artists and write about them. Essays in art class? I had never researched like this in art class. I had never expanded my knowledge of art beyond the fact that I can draw a pretty picture and I can photograph flowers at interesting angles. So basically I was still picturing an elementary school style art class, with a mother hen for my teacher, holding my hand along the way, directing every stroke of my paintbrush, regurgitating famous artists’ work and working straight from a photograph. Copy-paste, copy-paste. I was always told I had great technique and a good eye for organization in a piece, so I thought I was set for success.
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It’s not interesting or striking. It just hangs around in the abyss of meaningless artwork with no content. Bottom line my artwork was boring and insignificant. I wasn’t proud of my bowl of dominoes I had just drawn because it meant nothing to me. I sat down with my teacher to critique my piece. He looked disappointed, and on the verge of tears; I admitted that I was so lost. I had no idea what to draw. I wasn’t used to all of the freedom allotted to me in this class. I didn’t know what to do without my mother hen guiding me. My inspiration was lost and I desperately needed it back. My teacher told me to think of what I am passionate about and what I like to do. I was a gymnast for twelve years before I started cheerleading in high school, so I have always loved tumbling. So now that I had my topic, I had to figure out how to translate tumbling into 12 pieces for the concentration part of my portfolio. I was not confident that I could pull this off. My usual artwork was realistic and detailed and very recognizable subject matter. But I was crossing over into a world of abstraction which turned out to be a
It’s not interesting or striking. It just hangs around in the abyss of meaningless artwork with no content. Bottom line my artwork was boring and insignificant. I wasn’t proud of my bowl of dominoes I had just drawn because it meant nothing to me. I sat down with my teacher to critique my piece. He looked disappointed, and on the verge of tears; I admitted that I was so lost. I had no idea what to draw. I wasn’t used to all of the freedom allotted to me in this class. I didn’t know what to do without my mother hen guiding me. My inspiration was lost and I desperately needed it back. My teacher told me to think of what I am passionate about and what I like to do. I was a gymnast for twelve years before I started cheerleading in high school, so I have always loved tumbling. So now that I had my topic, I had to figure out how to translate tumbling into 12 pieces for the concentration part of my portfolio. I was not confident that I could pull this off. My usual artwork was realistic and detailed and very recognizable subject matter. But I was crossing over into a world of abstraction which turned out to be a