Leverage

It is tax time, and budget balancing time, and as a public school teacher, I’m also thinking about contract negotiation time.  This all coincides with the dreary months of January and February. So, in Kansas, I can wake up in the cold dawn, grab the newspaper out of my wet gutter, and read about how very little our elected state officials value my career as an artist or my career as an educator.  I can turn the page, and in my pre-caffeinated fog, I can read about how the school board will need to stop action on voter approved fine arts facilities that were promised to my school after they canceled the last voter approved fine arts facilities that were promised to my school just a few years before.  In the frosty and bleak morning, I can also read about how the district is forecasting salaries for next year that are still frozen from three years ago, even as the national and world pages predict soaring fuel and food prices.  I'll admit that sometimes, as I sit in my dimly lit breakfast nook, rubbing my face and trying to make sense of it all, I'll wonder aloud "How did I get here?"

My life has evolved from decisions that, at the time, felt like natural choices based on my world view.  But, “natural” is a funny word. In Darwinian terms, it can bring to mind images of a society that preys upon my existence, clawing and chewing on my benign efforts.  For example, I pursue an art career because I believe in dialoguing creatively with my surroundings.  CHOMP! Creative dialogue is abolished; it is a luxury we cannot afford.  I teach in order to bring opportunities into the lives of young people. SLASH! I have to provide more and more to my students with fewer and fewer resources.  I am married and have a family because I met my soul mate and because we knew we could be great parents.  CRUNCH!  What if I do not earn enough money to bring opportunities into the lives of my own children?  In the natural world, the friendly little altruistic fish is always swallowed by the larger, more market driven fish.

In desperate times like these, idealist such as myself are left with very few beams of light to warm ourselves in, so we turn to the only source of artificial light and heat that we can find: Inspirational quotes! Tom Brokaw has been bouncing around in my mind a lot lately.  Well, okay, I’ll admit it, I do not watch televised news, and I have not read any of his books.  But I did once read this quote from Mr. Brokaw: “It's easy to make a buck. It's a lot tougher to make a difference.”  This is the magic of an inspirational quote.  Even removed from the context of his life and work, I can bask in the light of this little proverb and draw some strength from it’s relevance to the here and now.

And it is relevant, here and now.  Why struggle with making a difference, and not just focus on making a buck?  My best answer is not a witty quote, but another analogy.  You see, when I think about making shallow, short term changes to the world, it reminds me of trying to move against a great force with a short lever.  You may feel like you are in closer proximity to the problems at hand, but your efforts are pretty much futile, and you can effect very little change.  But if you work against large forces with greater leverage, like intelligence, and compassion, and creativity, real movement can happen, even when you feel as though you are operating far out in the periphery.  And, at least, the view from the periphery is more interesting than the shallow view.

 Please visit my work at kevinpkellyart.artspan.com

Winning the Time Lottery

Few things panic me more than thinking about how my time is being used.  I am sure that I have mentioned before that I am a husband, father, homeowner, full time teacher, and –oh yeah- I try to maintain this little project called an art career.  Each of these roles is a significant source of fulfillment, and I care deeply about the relationships involved with every one of them.  But, somehow, the label of artist carries with it a vague and persistent pressure that can raise my level of antsyness about being substandard faster than almost anything else that I care about.  You see, I have this intuitive, built-in meter, clamped securely to my guts, that measures whether I am spending “enough” time in the studio.  I imagine it to look like a game show pie graph with a pivoting arrow, and with different colored wedges, each labeled with descriptive phrases like, “real artist”, and “hobbyist”, and “give it up looser!” At the end of each week, it is my goal to keep this meter happily buzzing in a safe zone that will make me feel that the world is still full of possibility, and that my day-to-day busyness really can add up to something significant.   

But, apparently, thinking about how my time is being used is different than analyzing how my time is being used.  Recently, I was lamenting to my very supportive wife about my obligations, and I stated that if I just had about 30 hours of studio time available every week, then I would finally be able to move forward with my work the way I needed to.  She responded with a patient nod. So, to drive home my dilemma, I turned to a tool I rarely use: actual math.  First, I started calculating amounts to explain how my time disappears; teaching= about 45 hours per week, sleep= 56 hours per week, family time/making dinner/cleaning up on weekdays= about 20 hours, hanging out with the in-laws on Sunday= about 8 hours, getting ready for work on weekdays= about 5 hours, getting everyone ready for church and attending church every week= about 3 hours, and random home maintenance projects= about 3 hours per week.  Then, with self pity, I subtracted these amounts from the 168 hours that make up a week.  So, I felt a little sheepish to see that I was left with 28 hours per week (also known as about 30 hours per week).

I shared this story with a fellow artist a few days later, and he told me that it reminded him of buying a lottery ticket.  “You know, for a few minutes I can fantasize about what I would do with the money if I won.  But then, when I really think about it, I would probably just spend the money on the same things I always spend money on.  Those are the things I care about.”  I then had to admit to him that when I am given extra time- during the summer months, or during our recent snow days for example- that I really struggle to get even a little studio time in. Those are the days when it feels less urgent to wake up early and get out of bed (10 hours= sleep + “make up” sleep).  Free time also creates a vacuum that sucks in unexpected projects (take apart the dishwasher+ discovering I am not an appliance technician= 2 hours).  Without the perspective of a demanding schedule, I become overly ambitious, and maybe a tiny bit too obsessed, with rather meaningless tasks (defeat the boss man on old super Nintendo Street Fighter game= 2 hours).  Strangely, this reminds me of the lottery too.  It reminds me of every horrible story you have ever head about some poor chump who wins millions of dollars, only to squander it pointlessly on junk they never really needed. 

So, in a more positive equation, here is my current math problem; less whining+ more work+ a little bit of accounting+ giving myself some credit+ being grateful for what I have> being a loser.

Please view my work at kevinpkellyart.artspan.com

SAP Not Sappy

One of my strongest sources of joy and heartache in teaching high school art is a class called Special Art Production.  It sounds like art for special needs students mixed with factory work, but it is actually just an independent study class for art students who have already taken several art classes and are ready to try their hand at developing their own art projects.  Of course I tell my special art production students- or SAP students as I usually call them- that their job is to work me out of a job.  “Mr. Kelly will not be your art teacher after this class, so you will need to know how to make these choices for yourself, and I want to see you feel confident about making art in the future.”  I tell them this, then I hover around them to make knowing glances at “good” decisions, or to furrow my brow and nod slowly at their work, or, when I can’t help myself, to jab questions at them.  This was my mode of operation the other day when I was working with a student that I will call Mary.  Mary is eighteen, a senior, and she would be a 4.0 student, if not for the interruptions in her education.  When I worked with Mary last year as a drawing and painting teacher, I noticed her talent, smarts, and great work ethic right away.  And then days would go by where she would not show for class.  She finally shared with me that her older brother had been battling cancer off and on for sometime.  When she was absent, she was staying home to get him to appointments and to care for him.  She eventually dropped out of school for a semester to work full time to pay for Chemo treatments- her family had lost health insurance- and returned when her brother had died.  So now, Mary is just starting this process of planning and making “independent” high school art.  She has started with a photo composite project that is heavily influenced by David Hockney.  This is okay with me, really.  Copying the process of an established artist is a great way for young art students to get their feet wet.  They may not be swimming yet, but whatever.  Mary started by laying a full sheet of mat board on the table, opened a photo envelope from Wal-Mart, and without any gluing yet, she started to piece together a composition.  Before too long, I was hovering enough to notice her holding two photos with a frustrated expression on her face.  Her very horizontal composition was running up against the edges of the mat board, and she could not fit these two photos in that she really wanted to use.  I could hold it in no longer.  “Mary, what are you doing?!”  I caught my breath and continued, “First, you laid out this mat board.  Right away you are letting the company who made this mat board this size decide how your project will look.  Second, you let Wal-Mart decide that all of your pictures would be 4”X6” rectangles.  Did you make a rule for yourself that you could not cut the photos?  Did you make the conscience decision that they had to stay rectangles?  Why not lay everything out on the table the way you want and then figure out how to mount them.”  I was a little worried by the shocked expression on Mary’s face, but then a look of recognition came to her.  How long had it been since she felt in charge of her decisions?  How long had she been in survival mode, just doing what it takes to get by?  Sure, she has been told for quite a while that she is artistically talented, but how far has that gotten her with life pushing her around so much.  Has she ever really pushed back?

I do not really know how much Mary has thought about this day in class, but I have been thinking about it a lot.  As artists we hear that art is about expression, or that art is about beauty, or that art is about some spiritual connection.  No wonder artist statements can sound so loopy, flowery, or foggy.  In the end, art is about making decisions.  It is about controlling some part of a chaotic or oppressive world.  We need projects that physically remind us that we have a will, that we can exercise it.  I thought about that episode in SAP class this morning as I was convincing myself that it was worth rolling out of bed early.  I had to get to my studio and get to work.

Please visit my work at kevinpkellyart.artspan.com

A Foreigner in a Strange Land

Let's play a psychic guessing game.  Think of all rock bands.  Now, think about the greatest rock band of all time.  Now think about yourself in middle school, wishing you could be in a rock band.  Now, blend all of this together, the highs and the lows, and come up with the most average rock band of all time.  This is a band that you have definitely heard of, you know they have had hits, in fact you hear them on the radio. Then you turn the station. You have never been motivated to buy an album by this band or see them in concert, nor do you know anyone who has.  You wonder who really likes/liked this band.  Concentrate on the name of this band.  Concentrate...okay!

You are thinking of Foreigner, aren't you.  Yes, you are.

Now, this exercise is not meant to be disrespectful to this English American rock group, formed in New York in 1976 (thanks wikipedia!).  Far from it.  Instead, I bring this up because Foreigner is a great example, I think, of the sad relationship between fame and the artist, or artists as it were.  Bear with me here. 

Not long ago, I was listening to the radio as I drove across town, and a Foreigner song came on.  A reflex brought my hand up to change the dial, because this band is on "the list".  I do not mean an actual written list.  I mean my wife and I, living in a town that has horrible choices on commercial radio ("Everything that rocks!", or "The rock you grew up with!", or "The biggest rock library in town!", or "The newest rock station in town!") have formed an informal mental list of artists that we agree not to listen to while we drive in the car.  Making it to "the list" could mean that an artist or band has stupid lyrics, has very sexist lyrics, has unimaginative musical arrangements,  or only has fans with confederate flags on their pickup trucks.  Now, "the list" can  have subtle rules that make interesting exceptions.  Sometimes being so far out of style and oblivious to your uncoolness can make you cool, like Poison.  And sometimes being too cheesy and earnest can make you great, like Journey. Anyway, as I sat there that day with my hand poised to flip the dial, it occurred to me that Foreigner was undoubtedly on "the list", but it was kind of sad that they were.  For a minute or so, I thought about the group as real guys with a real history. I considered the years of practicing, jamming, networking, auditioning, failing, soul searching, and finally recording and touring that each member had been through.  They were lucky, I guess, because they actually made it.  And then I thought about the phrase, "making it."  What does that mean for these artists, really?  I mean, all that work, all that persistence over all those years, and how many Foreigner songs can I name without checking wikipedia? Four, maybe five?  You could argue that the band was simply popular before my time since I was born in 1978, but that just makes it even sadder as it points out how short lived and fickle fame is.  Maybe it is precisely their pursuit of fame that has relegated this group of artists to such dullness, to such averageness, such blahness that they belong on "the list."  Maybe the pursuit of fame and the pursuit of art are necessarily very different things.  Maybe art should be a Foreigner to fame.  Maybe this why I had to change the station.

Please visit my work at: kevinpkellyart.artspan.com