In 5th or 6th grade, we had an art lesson about Georgia O’Keeffe. We got to do big paintings on a piece of paper taped to the wall. We had to choose one of her paintings to do. I chose this piece, “Oriental Poppies,” from 1928.
This was my favorite art assignment I have ever done. It felt so right to be painting on a big scale and painting flowers. Sure, I took the composition and colors straight from the piece, but it lit something in me I’ve never been able to shake. I’ve been chasing the flow of painting those flowers ever since.
We had art maybe once or twice a month in grade school, and by the end of middle school, we had it…not at all. I LOVED art class. It spoke to me in a way that no other subject had. It took my tightly bundled emotions and gave them somewhere to go. A lot like English class and writing, as well. This was different, though. Art class was fun and messy and an embrace of the weird way I saw life happening around me. It showed that you could be something other than a teacher, salesperson, doctor, lawyer, vet, or dentist. This was something different, something other. I wanted that.
When we were asked what we wanted to do for a living, I always said something to do with art. Sometimes, it was mixed with other things like vet or something because I loved my dog, but there was always art. Compared to my other grade school counterparts, I was kind of good at it. At least…that’s what it felt like.
O’Keeffe was born in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin, a short trip from where I grew up and a mere stone’s throw from where I now live. It felt like fate. If this woman from Wisconsin could become a major force in art, maybe I could too.
But that’s the thing about having art only once a month that slowly dwindled to not at all. You don’t learn to practice it. I got busy with after-school activities and sports. There was the occasional summer camp where I got to flex my art muscles and revel in the reminder that I truly loved it. But I didn’t create art with the same ferocity that I approached other things.
I found my love of art again in High School, but it was another side-project that never made it home. I was still busy after school with sports (Varsity Soccer has practice every single day and games most weekends), and Advanced Placement courses to try to gain college credit before even deciding where to go, and trying to still see my friends who went to other schools. I didn’t “do art” at home. I got that hour to an hour and a half at school 2-3x per week in my block schedule, and that was it.
So, when it was time to decide on college, and I wanted to do art, nobody really understood why.
I remember one girl in my Junior Year when I joined a portfolio building session looked at mine and said “Do you ever do art outside of the school assignments?” as if I was an imposter. This girl who did not do sports, or after school activities, or AP courses, or really anything OTHER than art…was asking me for proof that I deserved this over her. Because in essence, I was competition for a seat at a table that she had been showing up to get for years.
So…I stepped aside. I chose my second love or maybe my stable love? The one I did do outside of school assignments.
I chose to pursue English, believing that I had more of a chance with writing in the professional/corporate world than creating art (Ha!). I ignored graphic design and all the other very feasible options for artists.
To me, pursuing art meant being a painter. To me, it meant being Georgia O’Keeffe.
Subtle Stories 