The Art of Art Education

Occasionally, an artist comes along who just makes you happy. Teaching art classes for kids has reminded me of this fact as I watch my first- through fifth-graders react to different artists and artistic styles.

Some children marvel at the tiny dots in a Lichtenstein while others prefer the distorted photo images of David Hockney. I’m blessed to be able to witness, firsthand, the effect art can have on children and people. Seeing a child laugh at a Haring or cringe from a Munch is an amazing experience, but I especially love it when art makes a child happy for no other reason than it just does. You can’t explain it. It just happens and it’s wondrous.

I've felt that way about certain pieces my whole life. And whether it’s fine art or a cartoon or a children's book illustration, the love for a piece comes suddenly and without warning. I remember, upon first moving to Washington D.C., for an internship in 1993, I took myself to the Hirshhorn (I am a huge proponent of visiting a museum alone, particularly if that museum has a nice spot for a latte). Upon climbing the stairs, I came face to face with this piece: Ernest Barlach's "Old Woman Laughing."

I was immediately filled with an absolute happiness that came upon me suddenly and unexpectedly (the best kind of happiness, I might add). The joy of this piece has stayed with me all these years and it still maintains its place as one of my all-time favorite works of art. 

Of course, another patron might walk by this piece without being moved at all — and come to find his or her own treasure just around the corner. Which, for me, is the true wonderment of art: What speaks to one person may not speak to another and that's just the point. Art is subjective and should remain so as long as we continue to respect the art itself.

Another piece that has always stayed with me is Manet's "The Brandied Plum." My grandmother Deedles gave me a little compact to keep in my purse in college with a mirror on one side and an empty space for a photograph on the other. Rather than fill that space with a family portrait or glossy of my boyfriend at the time, I immediately put in this picture. 

This painting just moves me immensely. Not only do I love her little dish with the plum inside (how I wish I could order one of those!) but I love how she's sitting and have always believed that she's not waiting for someone but rather enjoying a moment alone in a cafe with just her thoughts and a fabulous hat. And who could resist Chagall's "Birthday," in which the lady's suitor hovers above her like a green and blue bird with a kiss? From an illustration point of view, I'm also a complete sucker for Edward Gorey and I think it probably dates back to watching PBS Masterpiece Mystery with my grandmother in which the opening credits were animations of Gorey's drawings. Yes, Gorey can be quite macabre (take his books The Loathsome Couple and The Glorious Nosebleed, for example) but nothing captures his inimitable charm better than his book The Gashlycrumb Tinies, which details the untimely demise of an alphabet of children. Gothic? Certainly. But who could resist "N is for Neville who died of ennui."

Children, too, have an amazing capacity for art appreciation. Once a week, I am fortunate enough to work with a small group of elementary-school students and teach them all about art. Each week we focus on a different artist or historical period, read a book about that artist, learn a few fun facts and then create a piece in that style.

We’ve made mobiles in the style of Calder, self-portraits in the style of van Gogh, Moai in the style of Easter Island and cave paintings in the style of Lascaux. We’ve laughed at parodies of Grant Wood’s "American Gothic" (the Kermit and Miss Piggy one was a favorite) and I’ve donned a paper mitre to act as “the mean Pope” as the children, tucked under the tables of the classroom, struggle to create ceiling art in the spirit of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel fresco.  

In an era of continuing budget cuts, I am fortunate to see the impact that the arts have upon the lives of my students and, in turn, my own.  I applaud the efforts of parents who have taken it upon themselves to act as interim museum curator, art instructor, music teacher – who bring the arts into their homes purposefully and quite accidentally through listening to music in the house, to watching dance performances on the television, to expanding and nurturing their children’s creativity in a variety of ways.

We’ve read the reports proving that arts education can and does affect the long-term success in other academic areas and I see that in abundance. What I also see, perhaps more importantly, is how art can bring children to life. How it teaches them to create opinions and think intuitively and creatively. How it allows for collaboration of spirit and enables children to take a brief walk back in time to the smells and tastes of ancient Egypt as we learn about hieroglyphics or to feel the drum beats of Polynesian drums as we create our own statues of stone.

Igniting that spark of interest and imagination is something I hold dear and something I believe in with all of my heart.

And the product need not be the focus. Do I want my children to become tiny Picassos? Not really. What I want is for them to create things that are meaningful and interesting and make learning effortless because it’s just so darn fun. Because those creations are worthy of the most beautiful, awe-inspiring museum in the world.

Come to think of it, I would like to have my own museum (which would, of course, have a fantastic all-night cafe) and fill it with all of the pieces I've adored throughout the years: Wyeth's "Around the Corner" and Whistler's "Mrs Frederick R. Leyland" and just about anything by Juliette Borda. I'd have Magritte's "Ceci N'est Pas Une Pipe" (in homage to my modern lit professor in college) and Thiebaud's "Cakes Poster" (since I'm hungry) and Klimt's "Farm Garden with Sunflowers" (because there's really nothing more gorgeous).

I'd let everyone in for free and we'd spend a lovely afternoon toodling around the exhibits and I'd be able to share all of these little pieces of me just hanging there on the walls. And then, you'll invite me to your museum. And I'll happily see you there.