Professor Frans Eldwyn stood next to the butcher board in the center of the room. The professor was tall, yet hunched with a slim build. His blonde hair had largely gone grey, but otherwise, his features hid how old he really was. Around the room were several workstations with smaller easels accompanied by the silently watching students. On the central easel, several small pictured works were positioned around the one central piece, a flat white canvas of layered white paint. As the professor continued his discussion he would motion to each example, but never the central one. Never the flat blank white canvas of layered white paint. The one Robert hated with all of his being.
No talent, no effort, and certainly no skill, yet the work (for he vowed never to call it by its title; just THE work) fetched millions of dollars. While Doddson’s own work had made him a modestly well-off living, none of his own pieces had ever come to a fraction of the work’s value. And then he still had to fight with them for several weeks.
“…When you look at these pieces you have to take into account your own reactions to these works of art. As we have covered, there is a clear difference between abstract expressionism and pure abstract art. Each one tells their own story, but the artist may intend to convey something completely different. The artist may have even wished for the viewer to convey their own views upon the piece.” Eldwyn continued, motioning to a picture of slashes and splotches.
To Robert, it was a work of anger and frustration. The lines and colors appeared to be thrown on to the canvas depicted in the picture. He reflected that although he generally painted in such a state, his own work reflected what he intended it to be. Not a projection of his own thoughts. Unless I throw something against the white wall of my studio, he thought, each stroke is measured, colored, and intentional to convey exactly what it is intended to.
“Anyone here young enough to remember when the Parental Advisory board was first created?” The professor went on.
Even Robert was at a loss as he looked around at the silent classroom.
“Back in the 1990s, Congress sought to reign in on the explicit nature of hard rock, heavy metal, rap, and other genres of music claiming that the music in these platforms was subverting the Nation’s youth. In contrast to Congress’s argument, the artists claimed that though they have their own reasoning and methodology for creating music it is ultimately up to the consumers on how they are interpreted. Tipper Gore, the wife of the at-time Vice President Al Gore, headed the panel. She argued that the contemporary music and lyrics conjured images of bondage and subjugation of women. Dee Snyder of Twisted Sister, one of the many artists to come before Congress, replied that his music was about succeeding in the face of oppression and that the S&M interpretation of those same lyrics was of her own fantasies.”
This generated a lot of snickering and subdued laughter from the edges of the classroom.
“My point is that regardless of the artwork you see before you, your own reactions to those creations play a part in the story they tell. Anyway, enough of me showing my age. You all can continue working on your assignments.” Eldwyn concluded.
Robert allowed the older man to finish putting the butcher board back into the closet of his side office before he approached. Frans clearly did not recognize Robert as one of his more successful graduates of the School of Visual Arts.
“May I help you?” He began.
Doddson introduced himself and explained his alumni. Frans simply blinked his sleepy eyes. Eyes that seemed to be exaggeratedly enlarged by his magnifier glasses. Otherwise, they fit the rest of his oval-shaped face.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Rob. I am an old man and have taught had many an artist in my time. So what brings you back to your old classroom?”
Robert choked back the fact that his own mentor had not heard of his work. No, not just his old professor, but really everyone in general. I should be recognized for my accomplishments, he thought. I have completed so many works. Satisfied so many contracts with glowing reviews, but yet not even my teacher knows who I am.
“I am working on a commissioned piece that I am stuck on,” Robert replied. “I’m running out of options and time.”
“Not an uncommon problem, Rob. Many artists sometimes hit a metaphysical wall during their careers. Often times, their muses leave them, creativeness seems to dry up, and much like writers, they develop a block. You don’t need to tell me, just show me what you have drafted at the moment.”
Robert produced his cellphone and allowed the professor to scan through his previous works instead of the current piece. It was a cheap bit of self-promotion, but he could not help himself. Eldwyn asked a few questions about several of the pieces, which Doddson gave all the details. When he was finished, Rob had to change his phone to his production notes.
“So the company is a multifaceted organization who has tasked me with a large piece that encompasses the totality of their accomplishments.” Doddson offered.
The professor flipped through his notes and sketches and test pallettes. Back and forth. Over and over. Then suddenly, he handed the phone back to Robert.
“If you’ll wait right here, I’ll be back. I have to see to the flock so that they don’t go too far astray.” Frans murmured.
Taken aback by the seemingly biblical reference, Robert found himself rooted in place. He watched as the old man crisscrossed the classroom, talking to the students in a random fashion. Doddson, tried to predict which student he would talk to next but found himself amiss. The professor seemed to have a pattern predetermined to himself which he followed without any hesitation. Each student he met, he had a distinct and different level of instruction ready. Some he gave a couple words of encouragement, other he made long gestures and discussions with regards to what he saw. Never did he take a brush from a student, or make changes to their work. That was why he was the first person Robert thought of when he needed non-chemical help.
These thoughts soon diminished, as the moment turned into several minutes. Minutes turned into nearly an hour. Robert found himself checking his watch repeatedly until the bell rang to signify the end of class. Doddson hated the cliche time marker, but it was only then that Eldwyn seemed to remember that he was waiting in the proctor’s office. After watching the professor thank and farewell his students, Robert found the older man quickly making his way back to him.
“Come over here,” He said.
Robert found himself moved to the nearest workstation with a blank easel.
“Do you ever dabble in…” Frans asked “chemical assistance for your work?”
Rob had expected him to demand that he do the work right there and then when he was blindsided by the question. It took him several moments to respond.
“I usually have to drink myself to the point of nearly blacking out,” Robert admitted. “But I never tried any drugs or anything like that. Honestly, that is the problem. I want…need to do this work clean. Without needing to drink myself stupid to do it.”
Professor Eldwyn silently nodded while he looked to the empty canvas and then to Doddson. It was a long while before he spoke again.
“I’m not claiming that you can find your way to creativity by going the extra mile as far as experimentation, but Dali did a lot of his best work will under the influence of cocaine.”
“Dali also had a sweet girl to act as his muse too.” Robert responded.
“That’s true. Have you considered purging?”
“Purging? Like those African tribes who give you a concoction which makes you puke your brains out?”
“Yes and no. I take it that you only drink when you are working. Right? Right. I am going out on a limb. You seem to work when you are at your most stressed, inebriated, and with your inhibitions loose. I can provide you with a list of some of the cleansing research I have done on the subject.”
Though Robert was conscious of the actions, he could not help but to cross his arms and look towards his feet. The act and the knowledge of the act made him feel as though he were a teenager again.
“Sometimes the act of the exact opposite can be just as stressful as the original action,” Frans continued. “You drink to the point of excess in order to create your works. That puts a lot of stress on your mind and body. This time, make the stress the action of resistance to your natural states. Not imbibing is just as stressful as imbibing. Especially for someone who has been doing it for so long. Instead of drinking, do the things you do to fix the hangover only. Research herbal remedies too. Who knows, you may find your muse after all.”
For a long while, Robert stared at the blank canvas. The longer he stared, the more he could see. The regular dots of the manufactured surface. The regular gridwork of the threads woven into the fabric and stretched tight over the wooden frame. He could even imagine the individual threads broken down into the singular cells that made up the wound strands.
Everything is simple. You merely have to stop analyzing and start.
Chapter 6: Effortlessly Spoken
James C Gilliam 