Taught to know nothing

A multicolored blank tablet

 

When I was a school girl grammar was out. In my art student days, teachers gave critiques and otherwise kept out of the way. For decades before and after, art students were taught to be ignoramuses--at least about technique. I say "taught" because if something this basic is not on the curriculum, it is natural to assume it should not be; that it is not necessary.  At university, I took art history because I thought it would be an easy A. It turned out to mean hours shut in a dark room looking at slides. This was followed by the requirement to memorize names, dates, genres and categories; a nightmare. No wonder so many art historian/curators are unimaginative and uninspired; so many of their exhibitions corral paintings into the only categories they had been told existed or "adventurously" mix up the categories, a.k.a. juxtapose. (This is not entirely fair, but almost.) So much for background.

  

 If the world of visual artists--and we who look at their work--can be divided into those for whom line is central and the others for whom color is the heart of the matter, I have always been in the color camp.   Matisse is my man; I love much of Picasso but when I look at his paintings I often feel that they were conceived in black, white and shades of gray and then colored up.  . 

  

 Yet for all my passion for color, I never got beyond its ABCs—the stuff about how yellow and blue make green and what the various complements are. You can learn a lot, nearly everything, by listening and looking, experimenting and practicing. I could have educated myself about color as I tried teach myself about so many others things but somehow I was skittish; scared. It embarrasses me to have been so long ignorant of artists’ techniques; at the same time it is probably one of the most normal things about me.

Then I was sent the book [the subject of my previous post] which has been published to coincide with “Making Colour,” the National Gallery’s current exhibition (on view until September 7). I read and reread it. When the show opened, I was there to look and learn from Degas and all his reds and all the others whose colors light up those subterranean exhibition rooms.  

 

“Making Colour” is a revelation. It also teeters on the brink of fun. What would have pushed it over that edge? A workshop annex off to one side where I could have sat down with pigments mixed with different mediums—oil, gouache, tempera, water color, glazes and a variety of painting surfaces on which to dab them and see the results. A kindergarten for grown ups.  What could be more basic, more enjoyable and more eye opening? I'm ready. Where can I sign up?.