Danielle Stemen Got Lit 1st Draft 2/9/13 If you hear a voice within you say, you cannot

paint, then by all means, paint, and that voice will be silenced. Van Gogh was probably referring to that voice as Mrs. P, my high school art teacher. Im passionate about what I do, and people seem to appreciate that. Mrs. P, however, did not. Out of all of the people who should have been significant in developing my art career, my own art teacher is the only one who failed to fulfill her sole purpose as an instructor. In my junior year art class, we had what Mrs. P called art critiques after we finished a project. These critiques consisted of the class going out into the hallway, sitting down, while one student stood in front of everyone, holding up his or her artwork. The rest of the class was supposed to guess what grades we got on each piece. Our teacher would grade us on each element and principle: 18-20 points meant that your work was exceptional and required little to no improvement. 15-17 points meant that your work was average. 13-15 points meant that your work was unsatisfactory and needed a sufficient amount of work; Mrs. P considered 13-15 points to be embarrassing. We always had about a week or two to finish a project. One week, I slaved away on a realistic piece of an old couple, done in graphite and charcoal. I used up every second of those short 90 minutes I received every day at school. And when I got home, I pushed my other homework to the side. Forget finding the derivative of the curve and analyzing Shakespeare. I had artwork to do. I would spend four or five extra hours every night hunched over my table under a dim light, shading, contouring, erasing, and sharpening my 4B pencil. I would get lost. It would get to 3 am before Id descend back to earth from my own planet far, far away. I repeated

this process for the next week. And I was pleased with the finished result. I got a ton of compliments on this particular artwork. These compliments came from students who were extremely talented artists, so their opinions were considered very valuable to me. I turned it in to Mrs. P, confident that she would give me a good grade. A couple of days later, she returned the pieces back to us, grades and all. I had received somewhere between a low B and a C. My heart sunk, weighed down with disappointment; even though it wasnt perfect, I knew it was a lot better than what 95% of the other kids had done. The kids in my class lacked the drive and passion that I had. Mrs. P played favorites; she gave good grades to the kids who did really poorly in artshe felt bad for them. Frankie, for example, was terrible at art. Im not trying to be rude or discouraging, but it was the truth. He didnt try at all; he took the class because he thought it would be an easy Aand it was for him. I compare his work to preschool kids finger paintingsand even that is kind of a stretch. At least preschool kids have creativity and imagination. He used generic pictures of sunsets as inspiration and he finished his pieces in one class period, maybe even less. Mrs. P just gave him good grades because she felt sorry for him. She also only gave good grades to the students who had artistic parents that she was friends with. If I was an art teacher, I would give a student an A if they put effort into their art, if they used all of their time to improve their work, making it the best it could possibly be. If you didnt try, I wouldnt reward you with a good grade. I already hate the idea of grading artwork, but if I had to do it, I would base grades on effort and drive and passion. Not pity. Not personal relationships. I would grade fairly. Not based on who will like me if I grade this student this certain way. It was all about people-pleasing with Mrs. P. Anyway, back to the critiques. After I received my grade, scoring between 15 and 17 in every category, I was pretty bummed. As my classmates and I gathered in the hallway, I was

feeling pretty nervous and discouraged. I was embarrassed and anxious. Is my work really that bad? Maybe my piece isnt as good as I thought. I waited, dreading my turn. When I was up, I was confused at the reaction I got. I thought my work was terriblemy grades surely reflected that. I was definitely not expecting the praise I got. Everyone was telling me how talented I was, how skilled I was. I remember turning beet red, like I always do when someone commends my work. After the compliments dwindled down, and people stopped gushing, they started to guess what scores I got in each category. Okay. Contrastwhat do you guys think I got? 19! 20! 20! No, 15. They were astonished. They were appalled. Theres no way, I head a few say. Mrs. P is insane, I heard one say. I kept going through the elements and principles, asking them to guess. Each time, the responses I got were at least 19. And this was coming from some pretty talented artists. By the time I got to the very last category, everyone in my class was just angry and stunned. I wasnt really angry; I just kind of accepted my grade. However, I cant say the same for my classmates. A few of my peers marched back into the class room to ask Mrs. P what her problem was. They told her that my grade was totally off, and they demanded her to re-grade my work. Of course, being bombarded with so many students telling her that she was wrong was too much for my teacher to handle. She instantly went through my rubric again, scoring me the way my class thought my work ought to be scored. The same day this happened, a few of my other teachers happened to stroll into the class room. (The art room constantly had visitors; teachers casually checking out the art work, old art

students visiting Mrs. P, etc.) My calculus teacher, Mrs. Gaither, was in the room for some reason and she came over to say hello. When she saw my artwork, she instantly praised me. Mrs. P overheard her telling me that I had a real talent and to keep up the awesome work. My English teachers, Tarleton and Mrs. Cable, also visited the art room that day. They came over to talk, and again, commended my work. They even told Mrs. P how skilled they thought I was. I will always remember Mrs. Ps remark. Oh yes, Danielle is one of my most talented students. Shes one of my favorite students, she said, smiling at me. I thought it was complete bull. It was complete bull. She just wanted to seem like she knew talent when she saw it. Up until this particular day, Mrs. P paid no mind to me or my work. She just graded me poorly because I wasnt significant to her social life. After this day, my works always received perfect scores. I never received below an A. After this day, Mrs. P constantly complimented my work, volunteered me to work on big projects, like senior tiles and paint sceneries for theatre productions. She showed me off, displayed my work in the hallway. It angered me. I wanted her to recognize my work on her own; I wanted her honest opinions and her honest critiques. I wanted an art teacher. I wanted to be taught. I wanted her to be useful in my art career. I actually appreciated it when she gave me average grades; it made me want to work harder, even if I didnt have to. Shes probably what pushed me to become an even better artist. I have to be the best. If Im not, I keep working until I am. I was one of the best artists at my school. Now, I have to work harder to hopefully become one of the best in the art program. That probably wont happen, but I can guarantee that I will get progressively better. It became harder to become the best after Mrs. P started to bullshit me. I had to look past her compliments; I had to remember how she used to grade me. This is what pushed me to become better, to never stop trying, to never give up. This strategy worked, and

continues to work. I know a lot of people will never give me a true, real honest critique. So, I have to be my own critic. I have to tell myself to try harder, to make it better. Its hard when you put your whole heart into a piece and then having to tell yourself that it could be better. Its a frustrating process, but it must be done in order to perfect my work. There is always room for improvement. The one logical thing Mrs. P ever said. I like to think that maybe she was hard on me because she saw that I had potential. Although it is probably very unlikely, maybe she wanted to push me to do better. Thats what I like to tell myself at least. Mrs. P was technically a roadblock when looking at the whole scheme of things. However, I like to twist it around in my head to make it so that she was a sponsor. I still believe that Mrs. P is an awful teacher, but I am thankful to her in a way. I think roadblocks are just as important as sponsors; I think they may even be more influential. I think that they force a person to do better; they make a person want to prove that roadblock wrong. Ever since this day in my art class, I have realized that I cant let anyone hold me back. Whether it be faulty teaching methods or people kissing up to me, I have to see past thatI have to continue to do what I know about art.