Susan Kirkland (bio)

Figure drawing was a different matter. I was comfortable with the human form thanks to one very serious art teacher in high school. I have my suspicions that the Fireside Theater and Richard Pryor played by Dave Burris during those long scenery painting sessions was a diversion to hide his driving intensity. He trained us as if we were worth the trouble; art was not a frivolous escape from the more serious subjects like history and English literature—as it is in so many schools where art is a group of cheerleaders encouraged to dabble in acrylics on poster board for the big game. Art was just as serious and definitely more intense than a Shakespearean play—after all, we were creating art, not just reading it..

The Definition

Dennis Drummond taught anatomy and figure drawing at the Columbus College of Art and Design. I was familiar with the 3 minute rapid sketch routine, then 5 minutes, then 20 minutes; frequently used to loosen the self-conscious quickly and focus concentration on action, not detail. It was, after all, futile to piddle over perfect finger nails if the basic form and action of the hand was incorrect. This was the same method Mr. B used in high school. During that one-fifteen minute break during the three hour class, I asked Drummond what he thought of my classmates’ perfect painting. “Well, it’s okay if all you’re after is technique, but it’s devoid of any art. There is no part of that painting that is part of the artist—it is strictly an exercise in technique. What’s the point—we have cameras. I don’t think it’s anything to aspire to.” Whoa, this was not the reaction I expected. Drummond, a graduate of the Cleveland Institute of Art and an accomplished artist in his own right, went on to explain that technique is only important as far as it doesn’t impede the viewer’s experience; in other words, if your technique is so poor nobody can get past it to see the art, well, time to go back to class and work on it. Forget about art until you have enough technique to deliver expression from your brain, down your arm, through the brush, pencil, stylus or mouse and splat on the reality of some neat and tidy civilian, so you can, you know, shake ‘em up, right out of their stupored daily living.

The Work

By my senior year, illustration, like printmaking or painting was no longer the study of technique. Assignments were based on medium (manipulating the medium was covered in the foundation year), but subject matter was left to personal preference. Those who had not mastered enough technical expertise to express their ideas were left behind. Creative innovation, sound ideas, novel viewpoints and color with purpose within a resolved design were the objectives. The other objective [see Weiners & Buns Stateside] for me was prevent as many assignments as possible from faculty “appropriation” for the year-long display in Beaton Hall. My work was going into my portfolio for the all important job search. Blah, blah, blah, blah—midwestern work ethic.

The Lesson

Of the majors available at my school, I chose Advertising Design. Though I was a competent Illustrator, average compared to some of my classmates; I found the prospect of sitting around all day drawing pictures pretty boring. Illustration was just another way to build a broad spectrum portfolio; something I could do, making my skill set more attractive to a potential employer. Illustration was a snap—the hard part was figuring out how to keep each one in my portfolio and off the wall. Of course, I solved that problem, but only after I learned a hard lesson. The lesson, our first assignment, was an illustration in black and white. Everyone else got their work back with a grade penciled on the back, I didn’t. “Oh, you got an A. You’re the lucky one I chose for the annual exhibit this week—you should be honored.” Blah, blah, blah, blah. Thief!

The Violation

More than a year later, I retrieved my appropriated artwork from a bin that sat unattended in the empty hall. It was like seeing an old friend—but wait a minute, there was something wrong. It didn’t feel right. “Oh, yes,” my smiling old instructor said, “I just love that illustration, so much that I didn’t want to give it back. I wish you would’ve done more illustrations without that, well, you know, that nudity thing. [I think he means male full frontal nudity.] But you know, something just didn’t seem right to me, so I fixed this one little spot here. I knew you wouldn’t mind.” Blah, blah, blah, blah. Rapist!

The Point

Merlin hangs in my kitchen now, where I enjoy the memory of those joyful swirls of beard and the delicate balance of black and white. And then there is the separate part, an add-on, a poppyseed stuck in a tooth, an atomic fireball in a bowl of bing cherries, a small fold of fabric imposed on that work by someone else. Critique, suggest, even harangue; but DON’T EVER mark, alter, correct or write on someone else’s art. Copyright protects artists from this type of infringement in their freedom of expression, even students. Be aware of your rights as an artist; know the rules and fight a good fight when it comes to protecting your art from the interference of others.

Do your own thing; don’t do mine.

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