​​I surveyed my mess - I mean my piles of ideas & art supplies & old sketchbooks - all wobbling precariously in the breeze… and I thought – nope! this summer, I will do neater art & I will put away the paints and the myriads of future art bits that most people (say, my hubby** might call crap). 

(Oh, my goodness… I was trying to type out the cliff hanger drum beat sound & autocorrect did this so I’m leaving it because I love it!)
 
Bom bomb om….

The story shall continue (whether or not I actually share it)...

Art is the answer to everything. Think about it… Feeling sad or mad? Make art! Want world peace? Make art not war! Bored? There’s always art! Okay, maybe art isn’t the answer to absolutely everything, but it’s pretty darn close!
 
I can hear you… “But I’m not an artist,” you might be saying, “I suck at art!”

“Phooey!” is what I say to you! If you can make a mark with something on anything, then you are an artist.
 
A dude called Joseph Beuys agrees. He said, “Everyone is an artist.” Wait? That’s what I said. But he also said it, so there.
 
Pablo Picasso said, “All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once one grows up.” This is what I will help you realize.

 
The first thing to know is that Art is actually pretty easy, and you can definitely do it.
 
Try this - anytime. No time like the present (or right after this speech)! Pick up a paint brush, get some paint, or a marker or pencil. Get paper and make a mark. 

Secondly, practice makes perfect. Nope. Nope! NOPE!! Wipe that word - perfect - from your brain. Perfect is unachievable. No one and nothing is perfect — perfectly imperfect, perhaps. In fact, I say we remove the word from existence altogether. Instead, we’ll say: “ Practice makes better.” This is a simple concept. The more you do something, the better you will get at that something.

Talent is great. If you got it, use it, but practise is what really makes artists awesome… or allows anyone to be good at anything. When you were a baby, you didn’t know how to walk. You had to practice, bit by bit - first, you lifted your head and discovered your arms and legs and tried crawling. Then, you stood up (and fell down), all before even taking your first step. You had to practice  — and fall — a lot! But you did it. Are you perfect at it?

No! Trick question. There is no such thing as perfect, remember?! Are you better at walking than when you were a baby? Of course! I know sometimes I trip, even fall, and I most definitely walk into loads of things, and that’s okay. I try not to be a klutz because I just want to do better than before. And it’s the same with art.


“You were born an Original. Don’t die a copy.” John Mason

Incidentally, this is the third important thing to remember… when I say better, I mean better than YOU did before. Not better than anyone else. Be YOU. Do art that YOU love; how you LOVE to do it. (Okay, maybe at school you must do some art you don’t love, and you may have to do it a certain way in order to get marks, but you can still learn from it, even if you are learning what you DON’T like.) Learning what you don’t like is just as important as knowing what you DO like. Then, it’s simple. If you like something, do more of it and do it often. Try changing it a bit. If you don’t like a mark, cover it up. Try again. No big deal.

So back to that that Joseph Beuys dude, who said, “Everyone is an artist,” he meant that being an artist means being creative in whatever way is available to you and feels natural to YOU.


We’re on a roll, here, so now you are ready to Embrace Ugly. What?! I repeat embrace UGLY! In fact, make ugly art on purpose. What?! Why?! Note how it makes you feel. Has the world ended? Nope. Did you learn something. Yep. You learned what you don’t like. Now, cover it up and keep going. Guess what? You might even like what happened. That happens a lot in art. I’m a gonna tell you a little secret… ssshhhh…. Listen up and tell absolutely everyone: a lot, if not most great artists and stunning art happens by mistake. 

Don’t be afraid to make mistakes and make them often. If you aren’t failing, you are doing the Art wrong (which is essentially the only way to do Art wrong). It’s how we learn new things and make great art even better each time.

And, if you are loving your ugly art and happy to make mistakes, then you will not be afraid to take risks in you’re art. Ask, “what if…?” Try the thing. If you don’t like it, cover it up and try a different thing.

“But art materials are expensive, and we should not waste them.” That can be true, indeed. Use materials you don’t worry about using up. Think dollar store. There are so many excellent art-making items that are affordable… you can buy ‘fancy smancy’ art-shop materials when you have built your confidence and reframed your beliefs about making art.


Finally, and this last guideline is by far the most important one… Have fun. Art IS fun. Play. Experiment. As Gord Downie sings, “Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way.” Enjoy the process. Don’t worry so much about the outcome. As Picasso and I say,“Learn rules like a pro, so you can break them like a champ.” 

“The artist is not a special kind of person; rather each person is a special kind of artist,” says Ananda Coomaraswamy. And the best news is “ You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have, said Maya Angelou.

In summary, let’s review: To be an artist, do art. Easy peasy. Everybody is an artist.

Go! Make art, Human!

(February 2023)

Quote Sources: 1. Joseph Beuys; 2. Pablo Picasso - bit.ly/3KFksUNg; 3. John Mason - book cover; 4. Gord Downie - N. Schneider original photography; 5. Pablo Picasso - https://artjournalist.com/acrylic-paint-brushes/; 6. Ananda Coomaraswamy - bit.ly/3m6CRzF; 7. Maya Angelou - Flickr: York College ISLGP

I’m ignoring the prompt, which is to look at Flower and botany proper names and meaning... I’ll fish out a past poem to follow the prompt but here is the third, and final poem in The Spencer Creek Trilogy....

Cardinal calls me to Spencer’s sanctuary:
Cicadas keeping beat.

Blue jays strike up the chorus.
Wren envelops me with his whistling, whimsical melody.
Singing sparrow sings solo.
Crickets chime in.
Squirrel spots me and stops.
We stare, sharing a sliver of time.
Uncouth crows call crudely back and forth.
Chickadees chortle, chatting to one another,
announcing, “Autumn is nigh.”
Above, geese fly -
V for victory.


What’s that?
Did I hear a splash?
Bustling beaver is building.
Cat bird cries dramatically.
Cooper hawk eyes his kingdom.
Deer Momma and babe bolt.
I’m honoured to have been so near.
A mink! A mink! I’m tickled pink.
She swam across the creek.
Each day, new wonders.
Spencer’s siren song,
enticing me to sweet splendour. I surrender.

Reflection & Aha... I used to worry about posting a poem every day, which was silly. I work on poetry every day during May, nay April (but the rhyme...), which is why there is NAPOWRIMO. I realize that mass posting every day brings an increased awareness to Poetry. But, we can only do what we can do, and it may seem obvious to some, but once I gave myself permission to go at my own pace, I may actually finish a NAPOWRIMO...It won’t be 30 poems in 30 days, but it will be 30 poems, based on 30 days of NAPOWRIMO Prompts (or not, ‘cause Poetic License) spread over several months.

I love this prompt and have been trying to make a poem, but it’s been a work in progress.... and I remembered that I have done a poem with this Prompt... As an occasional teacher, Aka. The Sub, this was an assignment the teacher had left for her grade 8 class. So cool! So, we all settled to poetry writing (they were really good kids at a really great school)....

i believe in You --
teaching in the world today takes everything we got
it causes so many worries. I wish we weren’t so fraught

slammed in the press for trying to do our best
taking away money, packing the classrooms like sardines
and it seems that no one is learning a thing

AXE fumes and obnoxious attitude ooze
i’m assaulted by curses coming at me, a mere messenger of knowledge --
and, I’d like to think — a harbinger of delight
i try with all my might
it used to be that eyeballs stared at me, they couldn’t wait to see
now, they get all glazey as they peel them from their screens
farther away and harder to reach
thumbs thump and slide, it’s one bumpy ride
machines rule the room, and I must be on a screen
to make my lessons boom
OMG it’s dizzy-making to think of all the changes
Life’s a test, full of stress,
but you’ll burst your seams,
as you follow your dreams.
i wish You all will soar to success.

reaching all the Kids today takes everything you’ve got
a worthy challenge I won’t give up on; I give it my best shot
I believe in You, the future.

(May 24, 2019, reworked/edited 2020)

This story with written 15 years ago, by a 17 year old me (Nicola Schneider, 1996) …

My Grandpa

When I think of my Grandpa I think of many things, but my earliest memory would be sitting on his lap, “helping” him do his word-search puzzles.  In actuality, I often, well… most of the time, found the words first.  We’d sit for hours on his brown cushy rocking chair in the far corner of the living room, circling word after word after word.

From that same rocking chair, my Grandpa would watch people and birds through his binoculars.  He liked people.  He could talk for hours about anything from baseball to the bump on his forehead.   

Oh, the bump on his forehead.  That’s a story he enjoyed telling!  “Grandpa,” I’d ask, “how did you get that bump on your forehead?”

“This here bump?” he’d say, pointing to that familiar lump, “I’ll tell you… You hit me in the head with a sledge-hammer and ever since, I’ve had this huge goose egg!”

“No, Grandpa!  I didn’t,” I’d reply, giggling.

“Oh, yes,” he’d insist.

I always knew he was teasing for he had a kind, gentle way about him.  It was he, my Grandpa, who first taught me to skate.  Every Sunday, we’d head over to the arena where I’d slide a little on my skates, and even more frequently on my backside.  But he’d always lift me up and guide me around the rink, until one day I could skate, all by myself!

Now, I think of my Grandpa whenever I go skating.  He has recently passed on but he will live continually in the hearts of those who loved him, and especially in my heart.  He will live on as he once was – not staring blankly or napping motionlessly in his rocking chair – but working on a word-search or peering through his binoculars… like he did when I was a child.

This was also written at that time by Me for an English Writer’s Craft assignment, Grade 12.  It is loosely based in reality.  I think I was going back to when I was younger.  My Uncle, whom I loved dearly, died and my younger brother and I didn’t really understand what that meant.  So, years later, when Grandpa died, I wrote this.  I knew that Grandma was really sad because she missed her husband terribly …

JUST A DAY, ANY DAY, AT GRANDMA's & GRANDPA's HOME

GRANDMA IS IN THE KITCHEN. 
GRANDPA IS IN THE SHED.
THE SUN SHINES.  WARMTH ENTERS THROUGH THE WINDOW PANE,
CURTAINS FLUTTERING IN THE BREEZE,
WHICH BLOWS IN THE SMELL OF FRESHLY CUT GRASS.
GRANDMA IS ROLLING OUT DOUGH.
GRANDPA IS BANGING A HAMMER.
WE WANT TO BE IN TOO MANY PLACES AT ONCE.
THE LEGOS HOLD OUR ATTENTION FOR A WHILE,
BUT INEVITABLY, WE ARE
IN THE KITCHEN WITH GRANDMA, OR                                                                                               
OUT BACK WITH GRANDPA.

SNACK TIME… WE RETREAT TO THE LIVING ROOM TOWATCH OUR FAVOURITE TV SHOW (MR. DRESS-UP).
GRANDMA BRINGS OUR SNACK:  APPLES CUT INTO PERFECTLYBITE-SIZED PIECES, 
PREPARED WITH THAT SPECIAL LOVE ONLY
GRANDMA CAN GIVE, FOLLOWED BY  THE HEAVENLY CRUNCHY
HOMEMADE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES.  THE STRAINED,
PULP-FREE OJ WAS THE PERFECT ACCOMPANIMENT.

GRANDPA COMES IN AND WASHES UP.
THERE’S NO WAY HE’S MISSING SNACK TIME!
AFTERWARDS, IT’S BACK TO WORK,                                                                                                 
AND PLAY.
INSIDE, IN THE KITCHEN, THE DOUGH HAS BEEN FILLED
AND IS READY FOR THE OVEN.
OUTSIDE, THE LAWN MOWER HAS BEEN FIXED
AND GRANDPA CONTINUES HIS LAPS AROUND THE LAWN.
THE CHILDREN PLAY AS ONLY CHILDREN CAN… 
“LET’SPRETEND; LET’S PLAY CHASE!”THEY ARE AS BUSY AS THOSE UPSTAIRS.

(NICOLA SCHNEIDER, 2007)