A not-so-starving artist's JanPlan
Charlotte Wilder
Issue date: 2/18/09 Section: Opinions
While most of you took a class on the Hill, interned, or went somewhere exotic and scored a nice tan (of which I am, I must admit, extremely jealous), I thought I'd take the road less traveled and live at home to remind you all how lucky you were not to be at yours. (Just kidding, Mom, our Scrabble tournaments really were the most fun I've had since high school.) I realized that I hadn't been painting as much as in high school and I missed it. So I enrolled in a "Continuing Education" class at the Massachusetts College of Art in the city of Boston. I'm a history major and don't have time to take art classes at Colby because I suffered from a severe case of major changeritis until last semester, so I thought I'd get back to my inner Picasso and see where I stood. I also wasn't opposed to the idea of home-cooked dinners.
I'm from a small town about thirty minutes outside of Boston (exotic, I know) so every morning I would get into my trusty Jeep and trundle down Route 2 into the city. Class was from 9 a.m.-4 p.m., with the building open until midnight if students wanted to stay later. I was nervous; I have never had that much time to paint without distraction. Could I make myself focus and enjoy it for seven or more hours each day? Nevertheless, I arrived on day one and set off on what would be a JanPlan of self-discovery.
The class was taught by an Irish painter, Tim Hawkesworth. Tim had wild gray hair and a somewhat unkempt moustache. He wore the same pilled grey sweater and paint-stained jeans every day, accompanied by a huge hunter green L.L. Bean coat that had to have been made before 1985 at the earliest. He started each class with a lecture that focused less on technique and more on the connection the painter must have with themselves and their work. My favorite piece of advice: "Don't worry about being original. Worry about being authentic. If you are true to yourself, originality will inevitably follow."
If Tim matched exactly my hopes for a great teacher, the members of the class defied my expectations. I wasn't thinking I'd be with kids my age, but I didn't realize the other students would be my parents' age and seem more suited for group counseling than art class. One had just come out to his dying parents; another cried every time she finished a painting.
I'm from a small town about thirty minutes outside of Boston (exotic, I know) so every morning I would get into my trusty Jeep and trundle down Route 2 into the city. Class was from 9 a.m.-4 p.m., with the building open until midnight if students wanted to stay later. I was nervous; I have never had that much time to paint without distraction. Could I make myself focus and enjoy it for seven or more hours each day? Nevertheless, I arrived on day one and set off on what would be a JanPlan of self-discovery.
The class was taught by an Irish painter, Tim Hawkesworth. Tim had wild gray hair and a somewhat unkempt moustache. He wore the same pilled grey sweater and paint-stained jeans every day, accompanied by a huge hunter green L.L. Bean coat that had to have been made before 1985 at the earliest. He started each class with a lecture that focused less on technique and more on the connection the painter must have with themselves and their work. My favorite piece of advice: "Don't worry about being original. Worry about being authentic. If you are true to yourself, originality will inevitably follow."
If Tim matched exactly my hopes for a great teacher, the members of the class defied my expectations. I wasn't thinking I'd be with kids my age, but I didn't realize the other students would be my parents' age and seem more suited for group counseling than art class. One had just come out to his dying parents; another cried every time she finished a painting.
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