I am not an artist.

I have this friend that I really respect and admire. He's a filmmaker and does graphic and web design. For the past few years, he's had enough freelance work to live well. He won a grammy or an emmy (I get the two confused) for some work he did for PBS Chicago. He's so intelligent that when we talk, I feel like my words turn to dust in my mouth. I feel like an ignorant child. Apparently he doesn't view me that way, because he's still my friend. He's on a list of three or four people I go to when I want to hear the truth in all of its gut wrenching glory. The hard thing about David's truth is you can't really argue with it. He's too smart.

I think I've made it fairly obvious to most of my classmates how much I dislike IUP. I have never encountered an art program that is so engrossed in concept that it ignores craft. The anger and irritation for me is not directed at the students, but rather, those who decide that this program should be this way. To the students, it's a major disservice, because in the real world it's ridiculously difficult to get people to care about your work when you're good. It's even harder when the craft is absent.

And of course, you would say in response to that, "Being famous is more about the people you know," to which I would agree. And this why I am not an artist.

David brought me face to face with some harsh realities last night dealing with the art world. Particularly, fine art. He told me he doesn't think I have what it takes to be a "fine artist" for a few reasons:

1. I am not good at lying. I won't write an eight page paper about why my work is relevant, mainly because I don't think it is. I just create. I won't stop if I'm not in school, or teaching, or in the art world. It's as simple as that.
2. I don't want to play the games the instructors would have me play in the world of fine art, therefore, I won't be able to play the games in the real world.
3. I want to make pretty things and teach people how to make pretty things. Maybe I should go into graphic design instead.

Ouch.

In addition to that, he asked me a few questions:

1. Why is art important?
2. Why do you make it?

To which I said, "I don't think it's important. I make it because I can't stop." To my dismay, that answer only fueled more brutal honesty. David's argument is that art as it stands in history is about adding some form of beauty to the world that doesn't need to involve human suffering (that tangent on the end of the sentence could be ten blog posts, so I'm not going into it). He claims that modern art, because it has lost a sense of beauty and purpose, tries to make itself relevant by clinging to humanitarian issues. Craft is lost in the process.

The night ended in me having a total meltdown while my boyfriend sat there and said, "Lena, I went through all of this too. It's okay. Don't give up." But knowing these things.. I am contemplating changing my major. And changing schools.

I'm questioning whether the long drive to Indiana is worth the stress. I'm questioning whether I would survive in any MFA program. I was planning to apply for the BFA this fall, but now I don't know. What am I doing? I would rather invest the time into learning some kind of skill set (so I should switch my thinking-I am a craft person-not an artist) while I'm in school than learning how to write about my work. If I wanted to do that, I'd be an English major.

Friends, influences, always. And this guy:

Anders Zorn. I have been coveting a $90 book on Amazon of his work for some time. One day I'll justify buying it. Until then, there's always the interweb.