18:25
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From a very early age, it was noticed and remarked upon by my parents, teachers, and peers that I had a talent for drawing which was above the ordinary. You may laugh and consider me deluded, but that was the general consensus of opinion among those who saw my drawings. I'm sure if I could view my early efforts now, I'd be embarrassed by how bad most of them were and also resentful of the fact that anything good about them was dependent on the influence of others.
By that I mean I learned from Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Mike Noble, Ron Embleton, Curt Swan, Murphy Anderson and others, 'borrowing' what was good about their work and infusing it into my own. Even a poor reflection of greatness has at least a hint of greatness about it, and that was what others saw in my sketches and doodles - the spirits of 'giants' that even my ineptitude and lack of experience couldn't completely exorcise.
As I grew up I grew lazy. Whenever I wanted recognition or approbation from my peers, all I had to do was acquiesce to their requests to dash off some doodle that, to them, seemed like a manifestation of magic on a scrap of paper or the back of a school jotter. I later learned, as an adult, that I was regarded as a bit of a 'legend' by people I didn't know because of my reputation being promoted and propagated by pupils in my class among their fellows and friends in and out of school.
Sounds like I'm full of myself, doesn't it? However, I recall meeting one fellow who'd been at my secondary school (and who I didn't know at the time) telling me many years later in adulthood that my name was a 'legend' at school because of my artistic ability in cartooning and also the portraits (not caricatures) of teachers I drew in my jotters instead of paying attention in class. (You have to remember that I was only around 12 or 13 at the time, so my efforts probably seemed disproportionately good for my age.)
I'm not going to lie to you. I was of course flattered to learn that people held my talent (if not myself) in such high regard, and I allowed a little pride to swell within my heart, though I never really considered myself as anything special. However, sometime in the early '80s, someone said something to me that made me think of myself in a different way.
I'd 'taught' myself to signwrite simply by doing it (and because I wanted to be able to), and one day, in an exhaust-fitting and m.o.t. centre where I was doing a sign, a fellow called Tony Quinn (no, not the actor) told me that he envied my artistic abilities because they were 'special'. "Anyone can learn to do what I do," he said, "but what you can do is a gift that can't be taught." (Unless one already had the spark that could be fanned into a flame, obviously.) I always remembered that, and I must confess it changed the way I saw myself.
I didn't become a bighead, but whenever someone would try to put me down for drawing superheroes and comic strips (for my own amusement), I'd often find myself thinking - and even saying - "And what can you do that's so special? All you are is a bloody biscuit salesman!" (Or whatever.) Of course, I'm sure that even some biscuit salesmen have talents, but for the majority of them it's probably just for selling biscuits and, let's face it - that's really not so special.
I've noticed a growing trend in society over the last few years to try and reduce what were once regarded as special (even specialist) talents or artistic abilities of gifted people to a lower level so that those who could never hope to attain such heights needn't feel in any way inferior to them. Where once it was perfectly acceptable to look up to and admire (even envy) those who could do things we couldn't, the new agenda is that we are all 'equalised', and your rough doodle is as much a legitimate expression of artistic ability and accomplishment as a landscape by Constable.
People study for degrees in order to validate their artistic aspirations, ambitions, and - let's face it - pretensions, so that they can consider themselves part of the talented elite. And let's not fool ourselves - there is an elite who are capable of things that 'ordinary' people aren't. A degree (in the eyes of many who want one) conveys a legitimacy (pseudo as it often is) on the lacklustre, talentless daubs of those who fancy themselves artists of some kind.
However, we're no longer allowed to make that distinction. Primary pupils in a school sports day race are all awarded prizes so that no one need feel left out or inferior. (No more winners or losers, merely participants.) Perish forbid that we recognise and reward excellence, and in so doing challenge kids to reach beyond their grasp and push themselves in pursuit of improvement in their chosen field of endeavour in later years. And if part of that is also teaching them to know their limitations, that too is a valuable and useful lesson. Children should know that they can't be good at everything and that there's no shame in acknowledging that someone is better at something than they are. Self-esteem shouldn't be founded on the fallacy of believing that you're good at something you're not.
According to today's way of thinking, anyone with a camera is a 'photographer', and anyone who wields a pencil or brush is an 'artist', regardless of the merits (if any) of the results. Anyone who tunelessly tortures their vocal chords (and the ears of their listeners) is a 'singer', despite not being able to carry a tune in a bucket. Anyone who commits a few lines of meter-less, badly rhymed jottings to paper is a 'poet', whose work deserves the same kind of respect as that of Poe.
You get the idea I'm sure. I don't know about you, but I can't help but feel offended when someone looks at a drawing I'm proud of and says "My sister's a bit of an artist too", when their sister thinks that unmade beds, or tents with names sewn on them, is the epitome of artistic achievement. As with most people, there are more things I can't do than can, but I reserve the right to feel proud of what I'm good at without feeling guilty, and resent any attempts by certain elements to elevate the results of the talentless to the same standard as my own by dragging me down to their level.
The world is now full of 'pretenders' who demand to be recognised for being (in their mistaken estimation) equally capable at whatever you may be naturally good at, purely because they want to be, or because of some undeserved job title or useless 'vanity-degree' (or certificate) that isn't necessarily an accurate assessment of their abilities. I don't have a degree in art (never sought one), but having one wouldn't enable me to draw any better than I do (whatever standard you may think that is), nor does the absence of one make me draw any worse. (I can do that on my own.)
So, do I have an over-inflated opinion of myself, or - in your heart of hearts - are you of the same opinion when you experience the same thing happening in your own life or that of your loved ones? The comments section is now open - let rip!
I'm not going to lie to you. I was of course flattered to learn that people held my talent (if not myself) in such high regard, and I allowed a little pride to swell within my heart, though I never really considered myself as anything special. However, sometime in the early '80s, someone said something to me that made me think of myself in a different way.
I'd 'taught' myself to signwrite simply by doing it (and because I wanted to be able to), and one day, in an exhaust-fitting and m.o.t. centre where I was doing a sign, a fellow called Tony Quinn (no, not the actor) told me that he envied my artistic abilities because they were 'special'. "Anyone can learn to do what I do," he said, "but what you can do is a gift that can't be taught." (Unless one already had the spark that could be fanned into a flame, obviously.) I always remembered that, and I must confess it changed the way I saw myself.
I didn't become a bighead, but whenever someone would try to put me down for drawing superheroes and comic strips (for my own amusement), I'd often find myself thinking - and even saying - "And what can you do that's so special? All you are is a bloody biscuit salesman!" (Or whatever.) Of course, I'm sure that even some biscuit salesmen have talents, but for the majority of them it's probably just for selling biscuits and, let's face it - that's really not so special.
I've noticed a growing trend in society over the last few years to try and reduce what were once regarded as special (even specialist) talents or artistic abilities of gifted people to a lower level so that those who could never hope to attain such heights needn't feel in any way inferior to them. Where once it was perfectly acceptable to look up to and admire (even envy) those who could do things we couldn't, the new agenda is that we are all 'equalised', and your rough doodle is as much a legitimate expression of artistic ability and accomplishment as a landscape by Constable.
People study for degrees in order to validate their artistic aspirations, ambitions, and - let's face it - pretensions, so that they can consider themselves part of the talented elite. And let's not fool ourselves - there is an elite who are capable of things that 'ordinary' people aren't. A degree (in the eyes of many who want one) conveys a legitimacy (pseudo as it often is) on the lacklustre, talentless daubs of those who fancy themselves artists of some kind.
However, we're no longer allowed to make that distinction. Primary pupils in a school sports day race are all awarded prizes so that no one need feel left out or inferior. (No more winners or losers, merely participants.) Perish forbid that we recognise and reward excellence, and in so doing challenge kids to reach beyond their grasp and push themselves in pursuit of improvement in their chosen field of endeavour in later years. And if part of that is also teaching them to know their limitations, that too is a valuable and useful lesson. Children should know that they can't be good at everything and that there's no shame in acknowledging that someone is better at something than they are. Self-esteem shouldn't be founded on the fallacy of believing that you're good at something you're not.
According to today's way of thinking, anyone with a camera is a 'photographer', and anyone who wields a pencil or brush is an 'artist', regardless of the merits (if any) of the results. Anyone who tunelessly tortures their vocal chords (and the ears of their listeners) is a 'singer', despite not being able to carry a tune in a bucket. Anyone who commits a few lines of meter-less, badly rhymed jottings to paper is a 'poet', whose work deserves the same kind of respect as that of Poe.
You get the idea I'm sure. I don't know about you, but I can't help but feel offended when someone looks at a drawing I'm proud of and says "My sister's a bit of an artist too", when their sister thinks that unmade beds, or tents with names sewn on them, is the epitome of artistic achievement. As with most people, there are more things I can't do than can, but I reserve the right to feel proud of what I'm good at without feeling guilty, and resent any attempts by certain elements to elevate the results of the talentless to the same standard as my own by dragging me down to their level.
The world is now full of 'pretenders' who demand to be recognised for being (in their mistaken estimation) equally capable at whatever you may be naturally good at, purely because they want to be, or because of some undeserved job title or useless 'vanity-degree' (or certificate) that isn't necessarily an accurate assessment of their abilities. I don't have a degree in art (never sought one), but having one wouldn't enable me to draw any better than I do (whatever standard you may think that is), nor does the absence of one make me draw any worse. (I can do that on my own.)
So, do I have an over-inflated opinion of myself, or - in your heart of hearts - are you of the same opinion when you experience the same thing happening in your own life or that of your loved ones? The comments section is now open - let rip!
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