On Amateurism

As most of you should know, its summertime. And as some of you might know, I’ve recently rediscovered my love of arts and crafts, spending more of my time thinking about all the unique and interesting things I (and anyone, really, as you’ll see) can make with paint, magazine clippings, glue, buttons, wire, fabric, thread, and a little imagination. So when, in my quest for some light summer reading, I recently stumbled upon the latest issue of UTNE with its cover emblazoned with a close-up shot of a bunch of crayons and the phrase “The Future of Creativity” emblazoned across the front, I knew I’d found the perfect magazine to peruse while lounging in the hot summer sun.

Inside this magazine, I found an interesting and far-too-short interview with author Bill Ivey, who is currently director of the Curb Center for Art, Enterprise, and Public Policy at Vanderbilt University. In it, Bill was arguing that “arts policy has long targeted two issues, arts education and increasing funding for nonprofit organizations, that aim to ‘bring more fine art to the American people’ without encouraging more people to actually create.” That is, as much as we as a society claim to value art, we do very little to encourage its creation, except among those in whom we see some special talent. Those individuals are dubbed “artists” and are seen as different and unique, possessing some amazing skill that the rest of society lacks, and the rest of us are encouraged to sit back and marvel at their creations. In his words, we “denigrate the amateur.” As a result, a large number of people are left with the impression that they’re not good at art, can’t draw, can’t paint, can’t sing, etc., etc.

I can see this all around me, and I think it’s a terrible waste. My friend Mary and I have been having “craft night” for some time now, and it’s been one of the highlights of my summer. We’ve painted, made note cards, made collages, stitched, made jewelry, and – for our newest project, will attempt to breathe new life into thrift store finds with the help of this book. We revel in our amateurism, without regard to how our creations measure up to some abstract artistic standard.

However, upon inviting others to join us, I hear the same responses over and over: “Oh, well, I’m not an artist,” or “I don’t know how to do anything like that,” or worse: “I can’t do that.” I want to yell, “Of course you can! Who’s stopping you! You have hands don’t you?” I heard this from my mother on several occasions, and upon my persistent prodding (as well as some other folks) she has finally embraced her ability to create, and in really unique ways at that. She carves avocado pits. She even won first place in a library art contest. Its amazing to hear her talk about the things she makes with pride, and how much fun she had making them, when a scant year ago she was convinced that she was not “artistic.”

Of course, this kind of problem is not only found in how we think about art. The bigger shame, I think, is that it’s found in how we think about thinking itself. To use my mother as an example again, she is the proud owner of a functioning brain, just like the rest of society. She clearly knows how to use it – she can hold an intelligent conversation, and she can do Sudoku puzzles and the Friday New York Times crossword puzzle faster than anyone I know. However, whenever I talk about what I’m doing in school right now, I can see the uncertainty flood her eyes. She claims that she can’t understand; that I’ve gotten too “smart” for her. It really upsets me to hear anyone talk like this, especially my mom. Why is it that she, and so many others, have convinced themselves that they’re not smart, that they are literally unable to participate in certain kinds of conversations, or unable to think about things at the same level as other people?

Recently, my friend Mary was telling me about a book by Neil Postman in which he argues that elitism is necessary in education (something that seems to fly in the face of most of his other work, so please don’t judge him by this assertion). While I see why he says this – that the idea of education is based on certain people (the elites) having more complete knowledge than others, who then have to pass on this knowledge to non-elites – I completely disagree with sentiment of this statement. Everyone is capable of thinking and producing ideas, just as everyone is capable of being creative and producing art. Education should be a collaborative process, one in which the line between teacher and student are blurred, everyone is encouraged to express their ideas, and in which every idea is considered as potentially valid. However, somewhere along the line we get very clear messages about what we are capable – and not capable – of doing, and those who can’t adequately communicate in the official language – of art, of music, of academia – are made to believe that they are “bad” at those things. We academics are encouraged to foster these distinctions. Some elite grad schools are designed as boot camps to weed out those who don’t “make the cut” academically. We’re trained to use words like “hegemony” and “ontology” that make it almost impossible for the average person to understand what the hell it is we’re talking about. In effect, a select few people are set aside as really good thinkers and writers, and the rest of society is denigrated as amateurs, feeling inadequate and thus not very likely to try and think and write on their own terms. How many ideas are lost in this process? How much literature? How much art?

My point, after much ado, is this: we all have hands and hearts and brains. We are all capable of creating and feeling and thinking. No one should be made to feel inadequate. This is not to say that people shouldn’t be encouraged to improve their abilities. I know I’m not the best artist/thinker/writer I could be. Nobody is. My point is people shouldn’t measure themselves against some elitist concept of what makes “good” art, “good” ideas, and “good” writing. We should all embrace our amateurism, recognize that everyone is potentially an artist or academic, and not be afraid to grab that box of crayons or strike up a conversation. Just like my momma, you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you’re capable of.