I tip my hat to volunteers like Genny Hendricks, who offers her time and energy in a weekly art class at Senior Action in Greenville, SC. The buzz in the room on Wednesday, January 28, is palpable as seniors ringing the horseshoe arrangement of tables share their latest sketchbook drawings with the group. While putting pencil to paper or brush to canvas is a solitary act, the encouragement to do so takes, well, a village. Or at least a dozen of your peers under the reliable tutelage of a dedicated teacher. Being with Genny, as a volunteer for a one-hour demo on watercolor pencils, reminds me of how many countable (versus countless) hours she gives to Senior Action. How many Genny's are there spread across Greenville, the Upstate, South Carolina, the region, the nation, and the world?
And how many teachers, paid or unpaid, have touched our lives, shaping who and how and why we are? From my own experience there are, to name a few, Lois Mailou Jones, Martin Puryear, Elsie McMurry, and Ron Burns.
I discover Lois Mailou Jones in 1979 while researching a presentation on American Women in Art (actually, a slide show, which was once as ubiquitous as a PowerPoint presentation is today). After I telephone her for an interview, I find myself being invited into her DC home. Can you imagine my awe, as a 20-something burgeoning artist, interviewing Lois on the sofa in the great room beneath her 1944 "Mob Victim" painting? However, while her residence is a literal art gallery, I am dismayed to discover her dusty studio stands unused. At this point you might ask where the inspiration lies? The inspiration lies in the fact that Lois picks up her paintbrush again, creating until her death in 1998 at age 93. Bravo, Lois!
Martin Puryear serves as adjunct instructor at the University of Maryland in the 1970s, commuting from his studio in New York City to teach in College Park, MD, near his hometown Washington, DC. Oblivious to his stature, I wield chisel and mallet in his classes, carving cardboard, pine, and linoleum. Through him, I glimpse some of the realities - and philosophy - of life as a contemporary artist. For example, when his repertoire of wood sculpture is engulfed in a studio fire, Martin sees in the tragedy an opportunity for a fresh beginning. I do not wish a trial of this magnitude upon any artist, but can only aspire to such presence of "presence."
Professor Elsie McMurry mentors me in fashion design at Cornell University, where I am seductively drawn to the textural nature of textiles. An attraction that never subsides but has simply transferred from fabric to paper. It is not her ability to subtly awaken my aesthetic sensibility that impresses me, it is instead her patience and forbearance with my half-baked youthful fashion ideas. I imagine that we all know a budding idealist who has ceased to unfurl her petals under the wilting judgment of a teacher. For me, Elsie is pure peat moss, water, and sunshine.
My Wm. Nottingham High School (Syracuse, NY) art teacher, Fred Burns, never trims the wick of his artistic lamp. He dies in 2010 at age 100, after volunteering for 30 years at the Fayetteville Senior Center teaching watercolor. Did I mention that Fred's volunteer career follows his retirement from a full career teaching teenagers like me?
Does it matter which month of the year honors volunteers, or teachers? Honestly, I'll seize any and every opportunity to say "thank you" to these individuals whose most successful art is the imprint of their hand on the hearts of others. Like me. Thank you.
And how many teachers, paid or unpaid, have touched our lives, shaping who and how and why we are? From my own experience there are, to name a few, Lois Mailou Jones, Martin Puryear, Elsie McMurry, and Ron Burns.
I discover Lois Mailou Jones in 1979 while researching a presentation on American Women in Art (actually, a slide show, which was once as ubiquitous as a PowerPoint presentation is today). After I telephone her for an interview, I find myself being invited into her DC home. Can you imagine my awe, as a 20-something burgeoning artist, interviewing Lois on the sofa in the great room beneath her 1944 "Mob Victim" painting? However, while her residence is a literal art gallery, I am dismayed to discover her dusty studio stands unused. At this point you might ask where the inspiration lies? The inspiration lies in the fact that Lois picks up her paintbrush again, creating until her death in 1998 at age 93. Bravo, Lois!
Martin Puryear serves as adjunct instructor at the University of Maryland in the 1970s, commuting from his studio in New York City to teach in College Park, MD, near his hometown Washington, DC. Oblivious to his stature, I wield chisel and mallet in his classes, carving cardboard, pine, and linoleum. Through him, I glimpse some of the realities - and philosophy - of life as a contemporary artist. For example, when his repertoire of wood sculpture is engulfed in a studio fire, Martin sees in the tragedy an opportunity for a fresh beginning. I do not wish a trial of this magnitude upon any artist, but can only aspire to such presence of "presence."
Professor Elsie McMurry mentors me in fashion design at Cornell University, where I am seductively drawn to the textural nature of textiles. An attraction that never subsides but has simply transferred from fabric to paper. It is not her ability to subtly awaken my aesthetic sensibility that impresses me, it is instead her patience and forbearance with my half-baked youthful fashion ideas. I imagine that we all know a budding idealist who has ceased to unfurl her petals under the wilting judgment of a teacher. For me, Elsie is pure peat moss, water, and sunshine.
My Wm. Nottingham High School (Syracuse, NY) art teacher, Fred Burns, never trims the wick of his artistic lamp. He dies in 2010 at age 100, after volunteering for 30 years at the Fayetteville Senior Center teaching watercolor. Did I mention that Fred's volunteer career follows his retirement from a full career teaching teenagers like me?
Does it matter which month of the year honors volunteers, or teachers? Honestly, I'll seize any and every opportunity to say "thank you" to these individuals whose most successful art is the imprint of their hand on the hearts of others. Like me. Thank you.