I arrived to Los Angeles for the first time at 19, with big dreams, high hopes, and new beginnings.
My parents put me up to attend the most renowned Art College in the country. I got in “by the skin of my teeth”. This was my second attempt at Art College. I abandoned the first “Best Art College” on the other side of the country because my art was not improving despite a great GPA(3.9 out of a 4.0).
I was losing faith in our art education system, not to mention GOBS of MONEY with nothing to show for it…
My GOAL was simple: To get better at painting stuff. “Ya know, Actually be able to paint and draw what I see.” I wanted to get so good it hurt.
Each day I finished school, I raced over to study with the god send painter Mike. He tout an hour away at this tiny startup art studio. They hosted random workshops to the public. His work was the “REAL DEAL”. THE BEST portrait paintings I’d seen, EVER. He was like a living God. It was like MAGIC, sorcery.
My first day with Mike I was nervous as hell…. complete with shaking hands and thumping heart. He was my ticket to “learn to oil paint like a pro”, and I didn’t want to screw it up!
He was not what I expected…
A tall and lanky guy with ripped jeans, and tattered t-shirt, schlepped through doorway. He had a pierced ear like a pirate and a 18 inch long gray goat-tee. I thought him a Dr. Suess character more than anything.
Oddly enough the portrait course was hosted in an office rental space minus the furniture. So we had aqua tiled floors and white walls with harsh florescent lighting in a cubical that was 12′ by 12′. Close quarters indeed.
He gave brief introductions and we moved on to our own portrait oil paintings. The class was packed to the brim, students painting on top of one another. I had brought all my equipment, setup my french easel, large plate glass palette, solvent filled jars, and fresh tubes of paint.
This was a big day.
I rushed to put all my things together into a coherent work station, carefully balanced to look cool and be effective.
I tried so hard to get a perfect drawing down, I gave myself a headache. Mike came over and pointed out some things that I could move, adjust etc, then walked off…
In his wake… One leg gave out. The solvent filled jar slid to the ground first, CRASH!
Shattering into a million soaked shards. Then the home made glass palette landed face down with a SPLAT! that was cushioned by the thick paint and solvent slicked floor, CRUNCH! It still splintered into a hundred glass daggers…
My wet painting high-fived me in the face as I went to catch the other casualties. SWAT!
This was how I started my first painting class, with utter humiliation and full of colors. It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.
One year later, I walked the hallways of school with a stack of portrait oil paintings on my head that nearly herniated a disc. I had made a choice to push myself to learn to oil paint and get really, really, good no matter what got in my way.
So I sat in on every oil painting class offered at the school. Sitting in on every level offered. I bought portrait courses, oil painting books, painting dvds, and took a summer art workshop all for top dollar.
As I walked the long hallways, my class mates who took a portrait course with me
stopped me and said things like “how many did you do?“, “you didn’t paint those ALL this semester!” “How the hell did you do that?”… I noticed others had a visceral response, like they felt sick…
I continued to Mike’s classroom on the last day of the semester with the stack of head paintings. He looked at them, and exclaimed “did you do those all this semester?!?” I knodded yup, and he gave a silent…
“You need no help from me to get where you want to go” expression.
I took my newly attained skills home for the break. I was totally relaxed and looking forward to painting when I got home from summer break. I painted the best portrait of my father, and another of my mother that summer. Funny enough, I eventually went on to teach at both schools myself years later.
