Chop, Dice, Slice & Grate
The Critique
There was no escaping it; after every homework assignment, there stood the inevitable public critique. No matter the time spent perfecting technique, no matter how well the goal was explained, no matter how many upper classmen were pestered to find out the solution; still the assignment had to stand up under critique by instructor and class peers. In the beginning, squirm and persuade, explain and delay, excuses flew left and right until the obvious. Nobody accepted excuses when the design didn’t work or was unresolved. We were all in the same boat and until we all got it, no assignment escaped dissection, live dissection with the victim conscious. Of course it hurt. But you won’t find any of us on American Idol puzzled about why we weren’t chosen and arguing with the judges. By the end of the process, we all knew what worked and how to push for resolution in our work.
The first assignment in anatomy class would make or break a few art careers: Draw 3 views of the human skeleton—face left, full frontal and back on double weight hot press illustration board with a zero rapidiograph. What made hot press so very slick was the fine coating of clay, just the right amount to clog the zero tip of the pen if too much pressure was applied. We had a week to complete this assignment, then Mr. Dennis Drummond would designate the redraws—yes, that’s right, redrawing the three views of the human skeleton and all the intricate, tiny bones that compile it. While everyone else concentrated on their first set of muscles, some of us had a double homework helping. Our class had over 300 people; some were returning sophomores who had failed the course (it was required to graduate).
More than a few of us wondered how he could possibly review 300+ boards on stage before we left, but more than half were rejected and I was one of them. Drummond was intimidating simply because he knew how to do what he was trying to teach us to do—and he did it perfectly, even elegantly. As we entered the auditorium, there he stood, beautifully illustrating the coming week’s homework assignment. The huge newsprint pad was taller than he was and mounted on a wrought iron easel. With Buonarotti ease (do you think Michelangelo's friends called him Mick, Mike, Mitch, or maybe Mickey?), Drummond lovingly caressed the brown paper with a stick of charcoal back and forth, perfectly executing this week’s assigned muscles. Yes, young people with sticky fingers, acrylic paint and acetate registering painted muscles to inconsistent and less than technically perfect ink drawings in 3 views, no less, background music courtesy of Jackson Browne or Jimi Hendrix, imagine the horror. By the end of the course, that assignment was tossed in the bin— a cloudy pile of murky acetate with butcher shop meat muscles.
The Lesson
Like so many assignments, the object was not about the week’s work. As we all notice over time, school work is designed to teach us to think, how to solve problems and how to see. It’s not about memorizing or performing by rote, especially not in art. The real assignment in anatomy class was to permanently commit the schematic of the human body to memory, allowing each of us to draw believeable human movement. We learned the human body, how it moves and why. Students learned how the sternocleidomastoid controls the movement of the head from left to right, how the trapezius muscles fluidly support shoulder movement and how leg muscles attach to the femur, fibula and tibia. That makes all the difference when rendering life forms.
Facing a professional critique makes you grow, both as a person and as an artist. You quickly learn to separate the constructive criticism from the nitpickers and muckrakers—and you grow a thick skin. My friends say I am an excellent artist and I answer with, “Yeah, but only average as a person,” and we all have a good chuckle. But I know my limitations as an artist, too. I avoid criticizing the work of my peers and have learned to ignore forum posts like, “What do you think of my logo?” If I tell them, their response exposes either an authentic plea for design advice or just a needy show off looking for attention for something that should go unnoticed. The latter will respond every time with defensive retorts, as if someone had stepped on his toes.
Every student of art and design, whether enrolled in a formal education program or self-taught, must follow their own paths to enlightenment. This is true even in a formal course of study. One work of art leads naturally to the next; and that is the right path. The natural progression reveals results; how the student reacts to the results sets up the next test of skills or parks your complacent butt in a fear of failure parking space; where you will remain until you start taking risks again. That’s why the best test of growth in art is a lack of appreciation for previous works; you’ve moved on to greater things.
Oh, and for those of you still facing the secret of anatomy class and the skeleton test; Drummond shared the name of the tiny bone he looks for on each of the boards and I‘ll never tell.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Look for more stories and adventures in advertising design in my book Start and Run a Creative Services Business. It's filled with great links and a full spectrum of experiences that will prepare you to face the unknown in freelance and the world of design. Not an artist? You'll be in stitches as you follow the adventures of self-employment. And if you've been freelancing for a while, you'll find new information and a trustworthy mentor to stand by your side through thick and thin in Start and Run a Creative Services Business. Excerpts are available online at my website.
Ah, anatomy class, what memories. As a student at the Ontario College of Art and Design I was lucky enough to have access to the nearby University of Toronto's famed collection of historical specimens. My favorite was a distinguished gentlemen from the turn of the century with a dashing handlebar mustache. He floated tranquilly in his jar--at least, his head did, sliced neatly in half.