The writer’ pen? The sculptor’s hands? The painter’s brush? The dancer’s breath? Here’s the truth – you can’t cultivate true art.
You can’t take crap and make magic. It doesn’t work that way.
What? That’s not what I said in class? You’re damn right I didn’t say it in class. Because in every class there is the artist who doesn’t recognize himself.
The truth is this – the artist is the one who is usually the most discouraged, the most convinced that he’s just kidding himself. He thinks of himself as a poser; she thinks of herself as a phony. They are not artificial. They are real. They are easy to spot. First, they are usually quieter than the other students. When they read, their voices are softer, smaller. They are unwrapping their babies for us. They are that invested in their work. Language is liquid for them, a symphony of horns, cellos, and bass drums. Every word has been examined, judged and found worthy. Their works stink of truth. We will shade our eyes and the remnant of the piece lingers with us years later like a first kiss.
And the other reason to not tell students that yes, you either have it within you or your don’t is this – some students who I encourage to “develop their craft” are artists who are not quite hatched yet. They lack courage – the courage to be honest in what they want to say – the courage to stand alone – the courage to let the work go out into the world unaccompanied.
Can you teach the craft of writing? Yes. You can teach dialogue, characterization, point of view, theme, voice, plot….
Can you make an artist of any student? No. Only students can make themselves artists.
And speaking personally, I wouldn’t recommend it for mere mortals. But for those among us who would be gods, be gods. Create worlds, sculpt, dance, sing, paint, write. Stare at the sun. Don’t blink.
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