I actually find it quite interesting. This provocative idea of perfect education.
What must I say of thee, no we, the “educated” ones writhe and stew hoping to secure a place in this rat race known as the American Dream.
Working toward a love for “knowledge” when truly it has become a threat for security.
At “Art School” we do it differently.
Notice how I use these quotidian “quotation marks” around my most sarcastic of comments in regards to America’s very own educational conveyer belt of success stories.
That is simply the art school in me talking through my fears of lack of that rigor.
They, the “educated ones who read and write profusely in the footsteps of teachers who have gone before them and promised them liberation from middle school “failuredom” into the freedom of not making up artsy words like so.
Teaching them the usages of proper punctuation, and the romantic alliteration of a sonnet without obsessing over how to disassemble the government.
We the “artists” so intrigued with how to take over the world, and how to get our already loud, and indulgent voices heard. Take more classes on said topic to appease our refusal to study in high school.
At first it was cute. Coming into class with a bunch of flower power, herbal induced, free spirits, who believe in something greater.
Within a week, out of studies of the metier, of my desired choice. These “Critical Studies” as we call them, were not so critical.
With classes that are faux science, and faux math for our little artist brains who cannot handle their analytical materials.
With our essays as “psycho-analysis” and with tests being open ended multiple choice. I figured that getting a gold star in art school is just like acing kindergarden. At age 30.
So. To all my fancy, smancy, probably clinically insane, teachers. Needing to be rolled up in a straight jacket and told that it is not 1985 teachers. That need to be told that teaching a class on science isn’t time to explain your world theory on alien take over, Teachers. To all of them. I say.
Though some of us are guinea pigs who have been over stuffed with artistry all day and have no desire for learning. There are some of us who are in our third years of schooling, and we feel as though we are high school dropouts.
We the “artists desiring education” who love to read Kierkegaard, and who can survive emotional burnout. Who love mental stimulation as well as the art that can be born from it. Who believe that numbers are not the enemy and who can count past 10 on our fingers. We exist. And we are irritated with your refusal to teach!
We have sent you honest answers in reviews and surveys, we have brought it up in student meetings, we have mumbled it in class as your eye has twitched in knowing your competence yet sticking to a curricula.
We the “over polite, over achievers who desire artistry and education” are too afraid to say this to your faces, while pessimistically thinking that you want to cater to the needs of the many who take your classes as nap time. We who cannot say this due to fear of lack of change. Who do not want to deal with the disappointment of the establishment saying “nice try”.
Stand for something, or go back to the mental institutions from whence you came. You are all brilliant insane people who have decided to teach artists. Now teach honestly, and teach true. For we the “educated, over polite, over achieving, artists who are paying ungodly amounts tuition” want our moneys worth.