But Have You Gotten Mad at Your Mother?
Thank You, Sam Amato, It All Leads Back to You
When I arrived at UCLA as a freshman fine arts major I already had a lot of technical skill. I’d been taking art lessons since I was five years old and because I could do accurate drawings from a live model or a still life or a photograph I was what you might call “artistic.” As I dove into every medium offered there (drawing, oil and acrylic painting, printmaking, sculpture, photography, performance art) I expanded my skill set.
To be honest, though, I didn’t actually think of myself as an artist. I loved art and was good at it, but I wasn’t passionate. I looked around at my peers who were in the studios pulling all-nighters because they couldn’t not make art all night. I didn’t even make art over summer breaks. I didn’t have what it took to be a real artist. I wasn’t committed enough, I thought.
When my senior year began I found myself in a place of inertia. No spark, no vision forward. I had hit a wall, my first real creative road block. With no momentum, no desire to start anything, I just couldn’t make art. I was completely stuck.
I went to see my mentor professor, Sam Amato, a big burly and soft bear of a guy who was my absolute favorite teacher at UCLA. We sat in his office and talked about how stuck and uninspired I was.
“Susan,” he said, “look, you’ve got what you need technically. You don’t need to work on your skills anymore. But have you ever gotten mad at your mother?”
I didn’t know what he meant. Mad at my mother?
“You need to get mad at your mother. Or get mad at me. Or the world. I don’t care,” he went on. “You just need to get mad.”
No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I was so hung up in color balance and composition, line quality and exactitude, I’d never considered putting my feelings into my work.
And then there was the fact that I never got mad. I mean, the “darker” emotions were not for me. (And…not comfortable, safe, familiar, invited, celebrated in my family.)
Sam instructed me to tape some paper on the wall, close my eyes and scribble, splatter and smash. Crayons, paint, pastels. Focus on my anger or sadness and just feel something.
So I did that. I taped large pieces of paper to my closet door, took a deep breath and got messy. It was a little scary but it felt like freedom. Black, blue, red, yellow splashes and streaks across the page. Releasing my dependence on perfection and looking instead at what was roiling around in my heart.
And it moved me out of my funk.
I brought these pieces to my senior seminar critiques. My peers looked at me and I could see on their faces this question: “What the hell is going on with you?” This was nothing like the work I’d done the previous three years.
I let them be baffled.
When I left UCLA the following June I headed to UC Berkeley to get a teaching credential and basically left dreams of my fine arts career behind. It was decades before I found art journaling and truly embraced the power of getting mad (or sad) with art supplies.
But when I look back on this whole journey I know for sure that Sam Amato knew what was good for me and planted that seed.
© Susie Stonefield 2015 | art journal page, Thank You, Sam Amato
Have YOU gotten mad at your mother? At me? At the world?
I think it's time, don't you?
Tape some paper to the wall or your table and pull out your crayons, soft pencils, and paints. Close your eyes. Feel your feelings. And let them out onto the page. When you're done, send me a photo. Tell me about it. I'd be honored to witness you.
And then, thank Sam Amato...he knew what was needed.
