The Keeper

Lessons in Art

Martha spent the evening combing through the art history textbook for every mention of chiaroscuro. She rewrote it all in her own words, 501 of them. The next day, she slipped into the art room before registration and left her red assignment book on the desk. As she was leaving, she bumped into Mr Finlay coming in.

"Shit," she said, caught by surprise, and then, "Sorry, sir. I mean, I wasn't expecting you."

"This is the art room and I'm the art teacher."

"Yes, I know, but... never mind. Sorry."

Mr Finlay laughed. "I see you brought your homework. Any problems?"

"No, sir."

"Good. I look forward to reading it." He smiled at her and walked to his desk as Martha bolted out of the door.

* * *

Thursday's art lesson passed without incident. The class was painting a still life of a collection of objects in the middle of the room. Martha was in her element and relaxed into the work. The bell rang before she realised everyone else had already packed up. She hurriedly put her paint away and went to wash out her brushes.

When she came back, Mr Finlay was holding out her red book. "See you next Tuesday, Miss Carson."

She grabbed the book and left.

* * *

Martha waited until she was on the bus home before looking at what Mr Finlay had written. The big, red C startled her. She had never received a C in art before. Yes, in other subjects (and worse), but her grades in art were always As or Bs. She read what Mr Finlay had written:

You have summed up the contents of the textbook adequately. C.

Wasn't that what he wanted? Wasn't that what all teachers wanted? To follow the syllabus, learn the key points in the textbooks, regurgitate it all in the exams? What more did he want? Martha shoved the book in her bag and turned up her music as she watched the countryside go by.

The next assignment was about artists and a sense of place. Martha used the textbook and a book from the library to write her essay. When she got her red book back, she was aghast to see that Mr Finlay had given her a D–. He had written:

Why are you not even trying to think about the art assignments I've set you? You are a competent draughtsperson and talented painter, but you are not using your brain to answer the questions. You are getting someone else to do the thinking for you. Interest and passion in a subject will take you further in life than parroting other people's opinions. It is a lesson worth learning early.

* * *

With her next essay, Martha thought she had done a superb job. But Mr Finlay gave her a D–, with the note:

Don't the works of talented artists interest you? The best way to develop your art is to learn from what has gone before you. All the great artists learned from the artists before them. Do you really think you are so different, that you have been delivered to the world with a fully formed, god-like ability?

At first, Martha was furious. She knew she had ticked all the boxes with the essays because she had researched them all thoroughly and copied the work of the best art historians. In her own words, of course. That was more than any other teacher had wanted from her. But not Mr Finlay. He didn't want an analysis of the best in the field. What the hell. Fine. If he wanted her to wing it, she would. She would stop reading her textbook, look at the paintings, and he could read what she really thought of those.

He set the next essay on the development of Picasso. For most of the next week, she spent her lunch hours at the library and studied all his work, from 'Le Picador' to his blue period, through to cubism and beyond. She read everything she could about his life. When she had exhausted all the books, she started the essay, writing about his early years in Malaga and La Coruña, where he learned to paint far better than most working artists today. She described how he broke through impressionism to be one of the founders of cubism. Then she described what happened during the Spanish Civil War, reflecting on how, with 'Guernica', he could communicate the atrocities of war far more than a conventional painting ever could. And then she shot him down in flames:

Picasso squandered his ability. He squandered his talent because of his ego. At first, he pushed boundaries, but then he only sought to get attention for himself. The idea of himself as a genius artist consumed him and he forgot about art. If he had treated women better, his art would have continued to evolve beyond that of a man who became a spoiled brat.

* * *

When Mr Finlay handed Martha her red book, she opened it with trepidation. He had written, 'I can't say I agree with your analysis of Picasso's later work. I'm glad it is Picasso who was the target of your vitriol and not me! A–'

* * *

In Martha's next essay, she included a slip of paper:

I may have attacked Picasso because he neglected his art, but at least he kept creating it all of his life. Do you create art or only teach it?

* * *