We All Touched the Stove

The past few weeks in the studio have been ones where I can feel the energy shifting in unexpected ways. It’s funny how sometimes the kids fall into their usual rhythms where you know what to expect from each level, and then a week like this comes along and everything swaps places.

On Monday, my first group walked out of here like superheroes. It was one of those triumphant classes where everything clicked, and you could just see it on their faces. I love those days because it’s not about one project or one breakthrough, it’s about the feeling of, “Hey, I can actually do this.”

But then in Level 2, the tables turned. The kids who usually start strong creatively, who walk in confident and throw their ideas out there, they ended up with pieces that didn’t turn out the way they hoped. And the kids who came in quieter, with smaller, more reserved ideas? They surprised themselves with success. That’s not failure, though. That’s the whole point of what we’re doing here. Success isn’t finishing a perfect piece every single time. It’s about learning why you’re making what you’re making. It’s about proving something to yourself. And honestly, it’s about time and learning how to work with it instead of against it.

In past years, if someone needed extra time, I’d just tack on another class. Not anymore. We have a schedule to keep. This year, we’re sticking to deadlines. I want them to learn how to put together a solid vision that can actually be accomplished in the time they’ve got, instead of biting off more than they can chew and spiraling into stress. I know what that spiral feels like. My whole career has been built on last-minute bursts of panic productivity, procrastinating with research until the last possible second, then creating like mad because I had no other choice. It is a process I developed out of necessity, and sure, it taught me how to work fast, but it’s not a healthy way of working. I want them to have a better balance than I do.

And of course, Level 2 also got hit hardest with the iPad situation. I had to stop class and explain what was happening: files messed with, apps being downloaded, histories that weren’t right. So their freedom got pulled. Two weeks to scrape and babyproof the iPads. I hated doing it, because I want to trust them. I want them to have tools that can bring out more creativity, not fewer. But responsibility has to come first. They just got the iPads back this week, and I hope they realize that these are what we all use to create. We respect our tools because of what they can do for us. We are lucky enough to have the privilage of working with these things when so many do not. Taking care of them isn’t just for them, it is for every student, because that is who is affected when you don’t. And sometimes, the trust part matters as much as the tool itself.

Meanwhile, Level 3 has been deep in perspective. Horizon lines, vanishing points, grids, and even three-point perspective. It’s complicated stuff. It’s easy to get lost when you’re trying to juggle multiple objects in three-point. But they’re handling it. And I’ve been pushing them to focus less on making the “best drawing” and more on understanding the system. Because if they really understand how perspective works, they’ll be able to draw anything. The drawings themselves are practice. The understanding is the thing that lasts.

And then there’s Level 4. This group is the most interesting to watch right now, and sometimes the most frustrating. This is the stage where I really want them to start exploring their own interests. To “play” at being an artist in different ways: design, fine art, game art, illustration, whatever sparks curiosity. It’s not about careers. I’ve never pushed anyone into an art career. But while they’re in this room, we get to imagine what it would be like if they did.

The odd part is how hesitant some of them are to even try. It’s like they’re scared of their own ideas, or scared that whatever they come up with won’t be “right”. As if there’s a right way to think about this stuff. Watching them mind map made the divide really clear: half of them were wide open, letting ideas spill all over the page, while the other half shut themselves down so tight that no new ideas could get in. It’s wild to watch, and I don’t even think they realize they’re doing it.

I keep telling them: after all these years of working on technique, of drilling skills and learning rules, this is supposed to be the fun part. This is where art opens up. But they’ve got to give themselves permission to enjoy it.

So across all the levels this week, the theme has been the same: learning to trust the process. Whether that means trusting yourself to finish on time, trusting each other with tools, trusting the system of perspective, or just trusting your own ideas enough to follow them. That’s the thing I want them to take home, that art isn’t about being perfect every time. It’s about giving yourself space to grow into who you are, one project at a time.

Our First Weeks Back

The past two weeks, I’ve had a couple of moments in class that really stuck with me, both circling around the idea of value in art. What makes something “worth” a million dollars, and what makes an idea “worth” exploring.

It started with the banana.
I’ve got some old glitter art pieces sitting out on the couch, and one of them is my glitter version of the famous banana duct-taped to a wall. A few of the kids spotted it and immediately went, “Wait, isn’t that the banana that sold for a million dollars?” And yes, it’s that one, back in the news recently because it sold again.

Their first reaction was exactly what you’d expect: “That’s ridiculous. I could do that.” Which, of course, opened the door for one of my favorite conversations. Why can’t they? Why can’t any of us? The short version is: because the idea has already been done. Because it wasn’t just about a banana, it was about decades of career-building, connections, and timing. And because the art world doesn’t run on flat rules, it runs on context.

We talked about how the Mona Lisa can’t be priced, but my paintings can. How my work sells differently in Brookhaven than it would in New Orleans or New York. And how their work, right now, sells for different numbers still. Not because it isn’t good, but because experience, audience, and history matter. You can’t compare your work directly to someone else’s path. Everyone’s journey looks different.

And then the same idea came up again in a totally different way.
The older kids have been working on reimagined masterpieces. They had to pick a famous painting and come up with a parody or derivative version. But instead of generating lots of ideas, most of them skipped the brainstorming step and went straight to thumbnail sketches. And what happened? Almost all of them landed on the same painting, Magritte’s Son of Man (the bowler hat guy with the apple), and almost all of them just… changed the fruit.

It was a perfect real-time example of why you can’t stop at your first idea. The first idea is almost always the most obvious, the one everyone else will think of too. Real originality comes when you push past that, when you keep writing, keep sketching, keep digging until something new shows up.

So whether it’s a banana taped to a wall or an apple swapped for an orange, the lesson is the same: art isn’t about the quick idea. It’s about the context you build around it, and the willingness to go further than what comes first to mind.