Sometimes, my graduate studies in art remind me of a lesson I learned when I was five or six.
I was hanging out with a kid who lived around the corner and a few houses up. I think, maybe, his family had just moved there. I don't remember hanging out with him ever again but on this day we walked along the ditch in the park near our houses. The water was low and pooled in long puddles. All along the way, there were little oil slicks on the surface of the standing water. The rainbow blobs suggested pictures to my neighbor, and as we walked along, he told me that each one was a word and he asked me what word I thought each signified. I would guess, and he would correct me and say that it was something else. I could see the logic as he shared his meanings, though I could never guess the words he had in mind. This interchange went on all through the park. We got to a part further into the park where the water seemed to dry up and there was a last little oil slick that looked like an explosion. I said, "this one means 'boom!'" He considered my interpretation and said, "yeah, that one means 'boom!'"
I remember feeling very happy that I was right, even though I was well aware that neither of us was really "right." I remember feeling grateful that he had allowed me to be correct about the last chemical glyph.
The lesson I took away from that, of course, is that other people will try to use authority to persuade us to adopt their meanings. It doesn't work. Particularly when we don't even know what those others are thinking. My neighbor was practicing being an authority. But in life, in art, even in the role of a student, you have to be your own authority. You have to be the author of your own meaning. Your meaning might be allowed. It might not. But the best anyone can hope to do is influence you. They can't own your meaning as well as theirs.
When I was a teenager, I was a "bad student." I knew what I wanted and I knew what I needed to do and I ignored the tasks that didn't interest me. I also got compliments on my work. My first year of art school, I was showing and selling my work and people told me I was on my way. But along the way, I tried to be a better student, and listened more and more to authority figures. I became a reluctant rebel. Now, however, as I finish my MFA, I realize I need to go back to being the rebel I was when I was younger, and reclaim control over my meaning. It might be allowed. It might not. But, I need to stop following along behind that neighbor kid, allowing him to have the answers.
He and I didn't really hit it off.
And I didn't even want to play that game.
