This is gonna be a completely self serving entry. But I just got an email from my favorite relative looking for advice. She is my ma's oldest sister. Before I was born she was the black sheep of the family. Anyway, without further ado here is my aunt's email and my subsequent response. Enjoy.

I had a strange day at school yesterday and need you to say something. Hopefully something soothing.

I finally found my subject-matter which is interiors, or paintings of rooms. I took a portraiture class hoping to get my drawing skills up there since I will be doing "drawing" within the painting. For this thing there was a guest teacher, since it was a seminar, and regular staff person was teaching in tandem.

Yesterday we had our final critique.

I was in the second group to put up work and was going to be critiqued last. My work was all on the "large" sheets and took up a whole bulletion board three pieces. We were going along discussing and saying positive things about everyone's work until it came to me. The regular teacher talked a little about the black and white. Said I had gone an unfortunate direction on the last four or five drawings in the class and then THERE WAS COMPLETE SILENCE and it ended.

I said to Doug, you know, some day this is going to be hilarious. But it's not funny now.

It's probably the strangest thing that ever happened to me in art. The head of the department had gone past one of those large drawings when I was spraying it down and had said that it was strong. The two teachers said that it was too pretty.

There's a Hispanic guy in there who did black backgrounds and made all the figures look like golden Myans. Several people got into copying him. I will resist doing that every time. They were running around photographing his stuff. It wasn't his fault, but I hate an artistic counterpoint like that. You know spoiled middle-aged white lady and young virile minority starving artist. The whole thing just crapped me out. Of course, there wasn't just the two of us in class and I'm not really that shallow, but you've been in art classes and I am taking it for granted that you know what I mean.

The teacher's husband ditched her this week and one of my classmates is sporting an oxygen tank, has bladder cancer, and is fading away before our eyes. I came home and was hysteric. I wanted to climb into the laundry cubby. I hadn't been able to cry because of any of the deaths in our family. Well last night I had a good cry and it felt great.

So. It is five o'clock or six in the morning and I am laundering my jeans because I wore all my destroyed art stuff clothes and got them all dirty at once since this was a two week gig eight hours long per day. And your aunt is getting right back out there, because I have class today. I don't want to go and part of me doesn't even care if I ever do it again. I am sick of the illustrators and the golden boys and the whole ball of wax.

Say something. This sucks.

Love, Beth.

P.S. I got an A

I definitely have a love/hate relationship with art classes.

I certainly miss spanning hours of the day drawing figures and still lifes. Thats a definite zen happy place. Circulating daily within a community of like minded and similarily psychotic art people allowed me to embrace my freak side, especially in the xenophobic atmosphere of St.Louis. Extremely healing. Obviously I am happy to spend time viewing art at museums and galleries. But there is something about taking in fantastic creations from some ghetto kid that looks just as good or better than some of the pieces lauded in galleries. Just the whole surrounded by art and art creation is pleasing.

I was never a big fan of class projects critiques. Art appreciation is completely subjective. Even in a realm of left of center folks my tastes and sensibilites didn't mesh with the majority of them. And, many people are just stupid with what they say. "It looks like you did that while you were drunk on the back of a bus." I don't mind harsh criticism at all actually, but if you are just saying some random idiocy, I got no time for that. Christ, how many times have you been in a museum looking at an abstract painting and some ape chimes "my kid could do that, huh huh."

One lady used to downgrade and teeter on insults when she evaluated my work cause she didn't like the music I listened to. In one semester end review she wrote that I would do better if I associated with a better class of people. See most of my friends in class were black, she didn't like it. I could have made the newest Guernica and she would shit all over it.

I had my fans. That sort of criticism disturbed me too. I don't want to be gushed over.

I only remember one guy who was even handed and actually took the time to honestly delve into everyone's work without adding any predjudices. His opinion was the only one I respected. And he definitely had some issues with my work at times.

Hell, there was one teacher who in still life drawing class, would chastise me cause I shaded in many directions and he would actually grab my hand and try to force me to only move the pencil in one direction. He also had a penchant for grabbing your pad and "altering" your drawing, using his thumb to smudge areas and drawing in pronounced outlines. As if he was some Renaissance master training his pupils to reproduce copies of his style to sell to the Di Medici's.

Now that I'm circulating in the acting arena, I've found that no one benefits from professional reviews. Most actors refuse to read reviews. Most of those pompous idiots are using the review to highlight their expanded vocabulary ( or their access to a thesaurus ) and how witty they can be.

I honestly never cared what most people think of what I say, draw, act out, or how I generally live my life. Well, at least since I was about nineteen. I'm sure that has done me diservice at times, and probably damaged some chances of learning experiences in regards to having my artwork evaluated. All in all though I don't think I'm succeeding unless a good chunk of humanity hates my guts.

Screw the entire world. Do what's right for you.

Thus ends the self aggandising entry. You may continue your lives as normal.