I had a recent discussion on what comprises talent, and thus what comprises art.
Those who’ve read some of my ramblings know that I don’t believe that we are born talented. Art, in my opinion, is something that we achieve and approach with more than mere skill. Art is the culmination of experiences, knowledge, inspiration, sweat, and a little bit of skill.
A friend of mine believes in natural born talent. Her explanation is that she has always been skillful with a pencil and paper. Ever since she can remember, she’s been able to look at a photograph, drawing, or painting and imitate it. To me this only proves my theory. She has excellent hand-to-eye coordination and her three-dimensional perception is beyond compare. She can translate and interpret images, she can follow lines, and she can create from what she sees. By her own admission she has a hard time creating original art, but if given a photograph, she can create a near perfect replica.
Again, great hand-to-eye coordination and terrific three-dimensional perception. I’d bet cash money that if she took up basketball, she’d be a great basketball player.
In-born talent? No.
The idea of in-born talent undermines the work and experiences that artists undergo in order to not only achieve greatness, but to maintain it.
There is no doubt in my mind that we are all born with some natural abilities. I also have great hand-to-eye coordination and near perfect pitch. These are things that can be improved, but never by much. Were I too have started playing an instrument at an early age, people would have called me a prodigy. I probably would have believed them.
My point is this, just because we are capable of performing certain skills at an adult level when we are children does not make us talented. It makes us human with parents that were willing to let us explore our abilities. I guess that’s most important. I grew up poor. We couldn’t afford to buy me a musical instrument, or to pay the fees to outfit me on a sports team.
It didn’t mean I was less able than other children, just that they had the advantage of money. I suppose if talent does exists it lies in money. I believe that if you give any child a chance, they will prove to have some extraordinary ability. Had money been readily available to me in my youth, I could easily have exploited my near perfect pitch and hand-to-eye coordination.
I’m not crying about it. The possibilities don’t bother me. My mother worked hard to raise her children, to keep us fed and in clothing. I won’t blame her for not being willing to spend money on arts and sports.
My ability to write didn’t come easy. Although I’ve been reading since I was maybe three or four years old, I struggled with English. I understood the language, but it wasn’t the dominant language in my home. There’s also the possibility that I may suffer from dyslexia (everyone else in my family does, too), but I overcame that through simple will power.
These days, I’m told often that I have talent. Sometimes I’ll argue, but mostly I let it slide. It’s not worth the effort to explain my history with the English language. It’s always been a struggle for me. My understanding of its usage comes through mass amounts of reading.
My first attempts at writing stories were emulating the styles of others. I think I did a good job, whether it was the poetic style of Bradbury, the punchy, quick style of Hemingway, or the beautiful prose of Poe. Through these attempts I came to understand the elements of writing, gained a rudimentary knowledge of structure, and learned how to tell a story.
It’s HARD ASS work, and has nothing to do with talent. Even with my near-perfect pitch and having learned to play guitar, I cannot simply pick up a guitar and start playing a song. My mind understands how to process the sounds I’m hearing, but unless I practice moving my fingers over the frets on a daily basis, I am unable to translate what I’ve processed.
So this is where we get to the art part. This is where I give my definition of art.
Art isn’t something that is easy on the eyes, sounds good on the ears, or reads well in your mind. Hell, sometimes art isn’t even creative.
There is a difference between an artist and an artisan. True artists don’t always have superior skills. In fact I would argue that the common street vendor has better skills than the artist. You know who I’m talking about. You’ve seen those street performers who paint scenes in twenty minutes and sell them for ridiculously low prices and those vendors who do wonderful little animals in pewter. They all have terrific skill, they practice it on a daily basis and have honed their abilities.
Nowadays everyone's an artist. Hairstylists, sandwich makers, and cabinet makers have all moved from having jobs to being purveyors of artistic works.
A true artist uses more than skill, and understands that skill isn’t the most necessary ingredient in true art. The artists that attract me most are those that pour every emotion into their work, the ones that are not afraid to reveal their demons to the world. Art is the culmination of understanding the human condition, whether the artist is right or wrong is of no concern. More importantly is that the artists has left nothing off the page, whether it be paint, ink, or musical notes.
The people who populate my stories are more often than not me. My friends and family may inspire a character, but in the end, they are represented by my interpretation.
My interpretation is influenced by all my relationships, successes, failures, jobs, schooling, and even the minute experiences.
This is where art is separated from skill, and why I don’t believe in talent. If talent represents the best we can offer, then the best we can offer can only be achieved through experience. Otherwise we’re painting on a blank canvas with only circumstance to guide us.
check out Wicked's blog, although it was an argument that got me started on thinking of this blog, it was Wicked's site that inspired me to sit on my ass and write about it
http://wickedlyinnocent.multiply.com/
