CSotD: Nuts and bolts and where to find them
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Mike Lynch notes the Toonseum in Pittsburgh's current exhibition, "Draw Me," which examines the various cartooning courses offered over the years, back when newspapers and magazines were full of cartoons and, well, back when America was full of newspapers and magazines.
America was also full of cigarette smoke back then, and the iconic matchbook inviting you to sign up for a course was everywhere. It's generally snickered at, as are the ads that promised riches and glory if you only became a cartoonist, but the entire idea of teaching the arts is prone to provoke laughter.
Should it? No, I'm asking: Should it?
Mike himself does cartooning workshops, mostly, I gather, one-day sessions where aspiring artists, often youngsters, get to hear from him and to try some activities and techniques.
I haven't seen his workshops, but I've seen the morning-long sessions that are a feature of the Kenosha Cartooning Festival each year (this pic featuring Bill Morrison and Jan Eliot) and there's value in having someone who knows the trade say, "Here's how I do this" and "Here, try this."
In the case of doing this with kids, I like the idea that some day an artist will say, "I never took it that seriously until my mom signed me up for this workshop …"
Not every kid in every workshop will become that guy, but we know that.
I'm not sure whether the proper metaphor is the mustard seed, where a great deal is wasted but that which springs forth is valuable, or whether it's just a matter of slinging mud at a wall to see what sticks, but whether it's cartooning or acting or writing, there is a piece you can teach and a piece you cannot.
There are any number of "teachable moments" in the arts, those accidental incidents in which two artists come together and one of them demonstrates a bit of technique that opens a gateway for the other.
I've seen those moments come for musicians in random jam sessions, and I suspect the "drink-and-draw" sessions where artists and fans mingle over beer and doodling have also involved several, "so that's how you do that!" epiphanies.
Do you need to sign up for some formal art course to have those moments?
Well, you have to find them somewhere.
My dad was a mining engineer with a talent for cartooning that remained on the amateur level, which is to say that he drew for MIT's VooDoo back in the 1940s, and then did our Christmas card each year and contributed to various club newsletters and such.
His stuff was good and people loved it, and he may be typical of the person who enjoyed cartooning but was limited less by talent than by passion.
He took the cartooning course from the Famous Artist's School — the coursebook for which is here – and so got feedback from people like Milton Caniff and Al Capp, but he didn't quit his day job.
From a technical point of view, he could have made a living if he'd needed to be doing that, but he was content to be a talented hobbyist.
The absolutely critical question, in art, in writing, in acting, in dancing, is how much you need it.
The people I have met in the arts have possessed a passion, sometimes quiet and sometimes not, and, however they learned their technique, they needed to be doing that and nothing else.
And even those who have that drive have different ways to get there.
I explored getting an MFA in writing until a friend asked, "I know that 'MA' stands for "More Academia,' but what does 'MFA' stand for?"
I answered the question, dropped the notion and followed the even more blunt advice of a seasoned writer who, in response to some brilliant idea I had, replied with a crisp, "Stop trying to be an entrepreneur and write."
Well said. Some people spend their lives preparing for a life they'll never lead.
Still, there's some merit in formal learning.
Mad Magazine artist Tom Richmond recently addressed the issue better than I can, and, if you're thinking of enrolling in art school, you should read his analysis and take it seriously.
Here's something I'm quite confident is true: A major benefit of taking art courses is that it focuses your attention on the art.
That's always been true, and, while it's less expensive to simply rent a cabin in the woods and pursue your art than to sign up for a master's degree, it can be helpful to be surrounded by other people who share your passion.
But don't give up on that cabin, or, perhaps, that studio and apartment over JD Salinger's garage.
Cartoonist Harry Bliss owns Salinger's former home down in this corner of the state and, through his connections with the Center for Cartoon Studies, is making the studio area available for a cartoonist working on a project and in need of a quiet place to get it done.
The one-year fellowship should not be mistaken for a chance to sit back: The stipend is only $600, so you'll need your own grubstake.
I was amused that, according to the application, you must have "a dependable car (with snow tires or 4-wheel drive)," and "be comfortable living in a rural setting," because, when they offer you a quiet place where you can concentrate on your work, they aren't kidding.
Local residents knew Salinger — he went to Town Meeting each year and came into town for this or that — but they respected his privacy and he had chosen a place that offered that. It's in the isolated section of the boonies.
But it gives you the benefit of contact with the school, its resources and its people, at a respectable distance.
Or the drawback of that contact, depending on how hard it is for you to master the first principle of creation:
Applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.
Nobody can teach you how to do that.
Now here's your moment of artistic instruction:
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