It was just a picture of a lion, and I was just a kid who thought that lions were cool to draw.

by Phil Rickabyart, LifePosted on No Comments

This is the story of how I stopped drawing, and came to believe that I “couldn’t” draw.

Before I was six or seven, I loved to draw. So I drew, I painted, and I really enjoyed it. And I was really proud of the pictures I made. 

That’s not to say that the pictures I drew or painted were particularly good. My paintings and pictures were a child’s paintings and pictures, lacking in perspective and depth, or even realism. But painting for the joy of it, without worrying about things like that is a child’s prerogative, something that can grow into something more given time, encouragement, and nurturing. But at that time I was just making pictures because I enjoyed it.

And then I stopped. And I remember when I stopped and why.

I was a sensitive kid. I was easily embarrassed, and hated feeling that way. My face would go very red and I would want to hide. I took the things that were said to me to heart. I lacked a certain amount of confidence in myself. This was tied up with my dyscalculia. After all, if couldn’t do simple math (simple to other people, that is) what other supposedly easy things couldn’t I do? The math thing really made me doubt myself, doubt my ability, made me think I was stupid. But the story of how dyscalculia eroded my childhood self confidence is another post altogether.

But this is when I stopped drawing.

We had a babysitter, and my parents were out. I remember painting. And I was painting a lion. I was very proud of the lion was drawing. I selected light brown paint, for body, including its flower shaped mane, and I gave it a smiling face because why wouldn’t a lion be happy? And I gave it long claws, because that’s what a lion had in my child’s mind. It was a perfectly serviceable child’s lion. And I showed it to the sitter, quite proud of my work. And the critique I got was that my drawing didn’t look like a lion, and a detailed description of everything wrong with it. And after that I no longer enjoyed drawing.

I remember this moment quite vividly. This shattering of my confidence. And this moment, started to take root into my mind, as it grew into the idea that I could not draw, that I some lacked ability. And so I stopped drawing. And when opportunities to draw or do art came up, I simply said that I couldn’t draw.

And of course, because I wasn’t drawing, I didn’t draw, so it became true: I couldn’t draw.

And I know people who draw and make beautiful art. People who make comics. People who design. And I admit that yhave been jealous of their ability, because I imagine things that I want to draw, projects that I want to create, and I can imagine myself drawing. But when I pick up a pencil, I just “can’t”. That lack self confidence that was planted so many years ago rears up, and the self fulfilling statement continues “I can’t draw”. 

I know that it’s all in my head. I’m determined to release this mental block, and to unlearn this idea that I have that I “can’t” draw. It’s an old belief, and that makes it hard to let go of, but not impossible.

The Importance of the Arts and Government Funding

by Phil Rickabyart, Culture, TheatrePosted on One Comment

Yesterday, Howard Sherman, the director of the American Theatre Wing, posted a blog entitled This is not a Political Blog. In it, he opens a discussion about why governments find it so easy to cut arts funding programs — like the National Endowment for the Arts in the U.S., or the various arts programs that have been cut (or threatened with cuts) in Canada (see the situation in B.C., for example).

The heart of the discussion begins with this statement:

“The reason the NEA (and the NEH and NPR and PBS) make for such easy targets is that their audiences and their artists fail to make a case for their intrinsic value.”

He has an excellent point. Those of us involved in the arts — those for whom the arts matter deeply — can talk about their importance all we like, but for the most part, we’re just preaching to the choir. How do we make this something that people outside the arts believe in?

In the blog post, Sherman talks about how, from time to time, there have been discussions about creating a “Got Milk?”-style ad campaign for the arts. After all, pork, cotton, and milk still need to remind people of their importance — so why not the arts?

But is an advertising campaign really the way to go? I’m not so sure. How would it be paid for? If even a few cents of public money were used, you know it would be immediately jumped on by the folks at The Sun and likely decried by conservative leaders (see Stephen Harper’s “average Canadians” comment from a few years ago). So what’s the solution?

The part of Sherman’s post that really got me thinking was this:

“A big part of the problem is that those of us who are profoundly dedicated to the arts hold them as a sacred belief; we are called to them as surely as religious leaders are called to the cloth. Yet to pursue the comparison, religious leaders spend one day every week making the case for the relevancy and value of their religion (these are called sermons), while we spend our time selling tickets to individual productions or exhibits.”

He’s absolutely right. We don’t spend a lot of time making the case for the value or relevancy of our craft. Instead, we spend most of our time shilling for people to buy tickets to individual shows.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t be trying to sell our work — of course we should. But why aren’t we also spending time encouraging people to go to other people’s shows? And not just within our own disciplines. Theatre folks should be promoting dance, visual art, music — everything. How else can we raise awareness of all the incredible work happening around us?

People who are passionate about the arts get that they’re important. But people who don’t care — who never attend shows or galleries — often see the arts as something elitist, something for the rich. Not for them. And in a way, we help feed that belief by only promoting our own work. If we’re not championing the arts in general, how can we expect someone who sees public arts funding as wasteful to view us as anything other than (as our Prime Minister put it) whiners complaining about our cushy, subsidized lifestyles?

I think we all need to do more to talk up other shows, other artists, other disciplines. We all need to work harder to raise general awareness of the arts, and bridge the gap between those who care about the arts and those who don’t yet care.

To that end: if you have something you want me to promote — let me know. I’ll promote the heck out of it, whether it’s theatre, dance, a gallery show — whatever. All I ask is that you do the same. Promote a show that’s not yours. Promote something outside your discipline. Boost the arts as a whole, not just the thing you’re directly involved with.

How else can we “make the case for the relevancy and value of our art”?