In My Own Defense or The Life of An Art Teacher

Someone approached me just recently and said an outright rude comment to me. I am always surprised by rude adults. I don't know why. I just am. It was that old adage, “Those that can, do. Those that can’t, teach”.  She was saying that her child is not excelling in my class because really, what kind of an artist am I anyway? I can’t even make it in the “real world”. I laughed at the comment and just quickly said, “Well, I chose to be a teacher. This is what I wanted to be.” It’s so easy for people to judge, is what I remember having run through my head. I smiled and let her continue with her conversation; she was completely oblivious of her own blatant ignorance.

 I remember that pivotal moment in university, thinking of whether I wanted to pursue my Masters in Fine Arts or become a high school teacher, and I chose the latter. I really just didn't know what I would do my masters on yet. I was only 22. I didn't really know very much about anything at that time. I was still figuring shit out (and continue to as a matter of fact!) There were definite pros about going off to university for my masters; I could continue to explore who I was as an artist, take the next step to dive into the work I was developing in my thesis year, continue to live the bohemian lifestyle of drinking, smoking and never sleeping and being completely free with my thoughts and my paint brush. It was so attractive. I really enjoyed being “artsy fartsy”.

But I also knew I was a “people pleaser”. I liked helping others and enjoyed being a part of the community. I loved the small town life and missed my family and friends. I liked being able to just hop into the bush at a moment’s notice and be completely secluded from the world. I also really respected a few teachers that I had along the way, at all levels of my education, and they were inspiring. They showed me that there were endless possibilities for learning, and I appreciated that. I could see myself being like these people and that was cool to me.

My dad was all for me going to school to be a teacher, because how would I make money as an artist? Understandably, his concern was that I would be mooching off of them for the rest of my life, but I did pay for my university all by myself. I just paid off the rest of my student loan not too long ago to prove it. Many people of my dad’s generation believe that happiness comes with financial stability. And my dad was a banker, so money has always been pretty important to him. I get it. But that wasn’t the reason why I chose teaching. I remember after my first year of teaching I did the math and figured after everything was said and done, (all of the extra time that was put in to prep work, marking and report cards on evenings and weekends), I made about $7 an hour, and that didn’t include “summer pay”. I got paid zilch for the summer! But I enjoyed the connection with the kids, and seeing those light bulb moments, and having incredible conversations every day with brilliant teenagers about art and life and creativity. And I revel in their growth. It’s fantastic.

And I’ve grown as an artist too, but have basically kept it to myself.  I guess this woman didn’t know that I have my Bachelor of Fine Arts Honours degree from the University of Manitoba, with an “A” in my multi-medium thesis under the tutelage of Diana Thorneycroft. I have a Bachelor of Education degree.  I have my Honours Specialist from Queen’s University in Fine Arts Education. I have taken countless professional development courses across Canada on both an educational level and artistic level for the last 20 years. I have enhanced my skills for myself, for my students and for the benefit of my community. I have a complete artist’s resume full of the stuff that I’ve done as an artist and teacher that Ms. Rude Poopy Pants doesn’t know about and I wouldn’t waste the energy telling her about. First of all, I don’t brag. Second of all, she’s not worth my time. And finally, I am a certified, qualified teacher and that is all that should be important to her with her child in my class.

It is only now (and not because of people like that and their comments) that I’m feeling the pull in the other direction, and that I’m really yearning to go off and be more of an artsy-fartsy artist. I guess that’s why I found this woman’s conversation so funny albeit disgusting. I haven’t even made an attempt to just “make it” as an artist because I haven’t wanted to. And how does one “make it” as an artist? Is there some form of certificate that I will receive in the mail that says, “You are an artist”. Is it a popularity contest on Reddit? Is it having my work in certain gallery? Or do I have to wait until I’m dead like another old adage about artist notoriety? Yeesh.  I’m 41 and just learning to find that balance; to be a bit of a teacher, a bit of an artist, a bit of a mom, a bit of a wife, a bit of a gardener, a bit of a friend….a little bit of everything. It takes time to do this.

So ultimately, she got under my skin. She pissed me off to the point where I guess I felt it’s time to explain myself in case there’s anyone else out there that wonders why I haven’t “made it” yet.  She made it seem like the last 17 years of my teaching career have just been “fill in time” and that I struggle after the bell rings at 2:35pm to work hard to become the artist I’ll never be. It’s just not true. I want everyone to know that just because I’m making life changes and starting to pursue challenges outside of the school system, it doesn’t mean that I’m not interested in teaching and being connected to kids and the community. If anything, I’m looking forward to making stronger artistic connections in the future with both myself and others…with time. And this person’s child is welcome to join in… any time, without judgment.