planet of the arts volume 7 issue 7

page 4

art,

i

ane

By Paul Shoebridge

- (nothing) More to do

with art

art, and me, too

art andits many different and shady sides
has had to do battle with me this term. i
have fought with art before, but this time,
its been different. i have a big problem
with art, which explains the reason why
our relationship is more about fighting
than trying to satisfy and make happy,
each other. iam bleeding and bruised and
sad and still almost in love but i’m losing
and the fight has to stop, stop before my
tuition runs out.

i have been told many things about art. 1
was told it was educator, trojan horse,
vehicle for emotions, battleground for
feelings, experiences. but after coming
to eccad for two years, i don’t believe much
anymore esp. those things which brought
me here to art school along a personmade
river beside a cement factory.

we learn about our future andits possibili-
ties through the delicate and overpower-
ing media that we read in small coloured
books or fairy tales; like we are later told
by psychologists that kids learn about the
world by telling gross jokes about starving
Ethiopian people because it educates,
through laughing. i learned things that
were told to me, rather than finding them
myself. romantic comic book heroes told
me about paris cafes and cigarette
smoking wine drinking happy con-
fused and abstract kind of people that
were artists, as defined by modern life
dictionaries. romantic ideals usually last
as long as courtships and their alluring
power fades after a shockingly small piece
of time. for me, it wasn’t two months

before i had my doubts-i saw the abstract
people, but their interaction wasn’t
supportivewinedrinkingcigarettesmoking
happy and sad times. extremes were lack-
ing, everything was too easy, too much like
a big couch where paint splattered people
sat and ate tofu burgers and got mad
about teachers bad manners.

at eccad first year, our group (my neo-
friends)—a big mix of different people and
their birthplaces— started to form, but
then our classes were divided up, so people
were each doing separate, very separate
things, and materials were expensive and
space was short, and besides, people
have to go home at a reasonable hour,
nevermind the fact that they are paying
big bucks to go here. i see now that the
passion with which i and many others
applied here with was quickly redirected
by the foundation teachers into smaller,
elitist segments that served only the in-
dividual’s needs and purposes.

but foundation was a happy smiling laugh-
ing allround fun time for me and some of
the other students that i knew. we got to
play in a sandbox together for a relatively
short period of time, and it cost us some

money and time but it was fun. making
big crazy cardboard things and painting
on the floor and making big Kline-like
slash marks on the page was also a smile-
filled period in my life. we got marks for
it too which i dutifully sent home to my
parents, (who, by the way are paying for
my tuition— student loan pays for the
rest, and i work, but not as hard as my
parents had toin the olden days) i learned
a lot of new words, like mark-making,
and spaceina painterly kind of way; and

ilearned many different definitions of art
words-like art’s definition which are sprin-
kled in pieces like pepper in bland food in
this essay to you. skipping classes to enjoy
the pre-summer spring sun was a good
thing, and it made life a little more excit-
ing, especially when john and me drank
beer behind the crystal ark and watched
the dogs run by us and i waved my camera
at the
snarlingrunningdogswetfromthefakepond.
ieven liked some ofthe pictures esp. angry
(looking) beasts in very small corner of the
frame white teeth gnashing.

place, but even this was strictly confined

to small downtown areas.

i got to visit montreal, which was an
experience. caleches and old, very old
buildings smelled like the history which i
felt a big hunger for. i wanted to set
myself apart, and art was a tattoo indel-
ible i thought which couldn’t be mistaken
for middle classicism. soi decided to try it
on and move across the big country
inlovewithmygirl friend.

back to eccad-

as i have told you, foundation was a

good thing, happy and crazy and

verybig when compared to the rest of my
stiff life. i learned to draw, sort of, and
express myself creatively in many differ-
ent ways. i also started on a newspaper
planet ofthe arts, which, despiteits very
funny sounding name, was the major rea-
son why i stayed for another year, because
i was having some disillusionment at
the end of my first year asi told you. the
newspaper reflected back into my mind
that i had a creativity that 1 was more
interested in for real, deeper and closer to
my heart. it didn’t involve manual dexter-

i was told art was educator, trojan

horse, vehicle for emotions, battle

ground for feelings, experiences...

iam coming, or rather, had come, from a

background that didn’t care much about

art’s weird parts— middle class, happy
white family from a very dry and non-
culturally involved towncity of ottawa,
where the primnt bldgs are. the only
sort of different, exciting and inspiring
culture that i was able to see was subcul-
tural generation—rebels against the white
collared parental units that controlled the

ity except maybe paste-up, closing one
eye to see ifit’s straight, and as a message
conveyer, it beat a painting ora photo that
only some people could see, for meat least.

and also, it was a sort of clip-on badge
that i could wear on my heart and not only
my sleeve. i was rewarded for knowing
about the english language, which can be
rewarded more directly than a knowledge
art, and me, too

artandits many different and shady sides
thas had to do battle with me this term. i
have fought with art before, but this time,
its been different. i have a big problem
with art, which explains the reason why
our relationship is more about fighting
than trying to satisfy and make happy,
cach other. iambleeding and bruised and
sad and still almost in love but i'm losing
‘and the fight has to stop, stop before my
tuition runs out.

‘have been told many things about art. i
was told it was educator, trojan horse,
vehicle foremotions, battleground for
feelings, experiences, butafter coming
tocccad for two years, idon't believe much
anymoreesp. those things which brought
‘me here to art school along a personmade
river beside a cement factory.

welearn about ourfuture anditspossibili-
ties through the delicate and overpower-
ing media that we read in small coloured
books or fairy tales; like we are later told
by psychologists that kids learn about the
world by tellinggross jokes aboutstarving
Ethiopian people because it educates,
through laughing. i learned things that
were told to me, rather than finding them
myself, romantic comic book heroes told
me about paris cafes and cigarette
smoking wine drinking happy con-
fused and abstract kind of people that
were artists, as defined by modern life
dictionaries. romantic ideals usually last
as long as courtships and their alluring
power fades after a shockingly small piece
of time, for me, it wasn't two months

planet of the arts volume 7 issue 7

page 4

By Paul Shoebridge

- (nothing) More to do

before i had my doubts-i saw the abstract
people, but their interaction wasn’t
supportivewinedrinkingcigarettesmoking
happy and sad times. extremes were lack-
ing, everything was too easy, too much ike
‘big couch where paint splattered people
sat and ate tofu burgers and got mad
about teachers bad manners.

at eccad first year, our group (my neo-
friends)—abbig mixofdifferent peopleand
their birthplaces— started to form, but
then ourclasses were divided up,sopeople
were each doing separate, very separate
things, and materials were expensive and
space was short, and besides, people
hhave to go home at a reasonable hour,
nevermind the fact that they are paying
big bucks to go here. i see now that the
passion with which i and many others
applied here with was quickly redirected
by the foundation teachers into smaller,
elitist segments that served only the in-
dividual’s needs and purposes.

but foundation was. happysmiling laugh
ing allround fun time for me and some of.
the other students thati knew. we gotto
play in a sandbox together fora relatively
short period of time, and it cost us some
money and time but it was fun. making
big erazy cardboard things and painting
on the floor and making big Kline-like
slash markson thepage wasalsoasmile-
filled period in my life. we got marks for
it too which i dutifully sent home to my
parents, (who, by the way are paying for
my tuition— student loan pays for the
rest, and { work, but not as hard as my
parentshad toin the olden days) ‘learned
a lot of new words, like mark-making,
and spaceina painterly kindofway;and

with art

{learned many different definitions of art
words-likeart’sdefinition which aresprin-
led in pieces like pepper in bland food in
thisessay toyou. skippingclasses to enjoy
the pre-summer spring sun was a good
thing, and it made life a little more exct-
ing, especially when john and me drank
beer behind the crystal ark and watched
the dogs runby us and i waved my camera
at the
snarlingrunningdogswetfromthefakepond.
ievenliked some ofthe picturesesp.angry
(ooking) beasts in very small eornerofthe
frame white teeth gnashing.

and me,|too

place, but even this was strictly confined
tosmall downtown areas.

i got to visit montreal, which was an
experience. caleches and old, very old
buildings smelled like the history which i
felt a big hunger for. i wanted to set
myself apart, and art was a tattoo indel-
ible’ thought which couldn't be mistaken
for middle classicism. so’ decided to try it
on and move across the big country
inlovewithmygirlfiend

back to eccad-

as i have told you, foundation was a
good thing, happy and crazy and
verybig when compared to the rest of my
stiff life, i learned to draw, sort of, and
express myself creatively in many differ

cent ways. i also started on a newspaper
planetofthearts, which, despiteits very
funny sounding name, was the major rea-
son why i stayed for another year, because
i was having some disillusionment at
the end of my first year asitold you. the
newspaper reflected back into my mind
that i had a creativity that i was more
interested infor real, deeper and closer to
myheart.itdidn'tinvolve manual dexter-

iwas told art was educator, trojan

horse, vehicle for emotions, battle

ground for feelings, experience

‘iam coming, or rather, had come, from a
background that didn't care much about
art’s weird parts— middle class, happy
white family from a very dry and non
culturally involved towncity of ottawa
where the primnt bldgs are. the only
sort of different, exciting and inspiring
culture that i was able to see was subcul:
tural generation—rebelsagainst the white
collared parental units that controlled the

ity except maybe paste-up, closing one
eye toseeift's straight, andasamessage
conveyer, itbeat apaintingora photo that
only some people could see, for meat least.

and also, it was a sort of clip-on badge
that could wear on my heartand notonly
my sleeve. i was rewarded for knowing
about the english language, which can be
rewarded more directly than a knowledge