It is said that the best way to learn is to teach, and I've never been one to disagree. It's something I enjoy very much, though the chances I've had to do so have been fewer than I'd like. Some summer classes, helping friends and colleagues, that sort of thing.
For some time I had been considering continuing my education, and had certainly gotten encouragement from a number of people to do so, but remained on the fence - getting a Masters is costly, work intensive, and would be hard to juggle with, well, my life. But I love learning. I would stay in school forever if someone gave me the opportunity to. It weighed on my thoughts.
There are few straight up benefits to a Fine Arts Masters, some might consider it a vanity, but it is the route to a career in academia at the college level. As in, teaching.
Last night I spent hours in a Denny's, sketchbook laid out, helping someone in the principles of drawing. He had been drawing for all of his 24 years, and wanted some pointers. At the end of the night, looking over his work he said, "these are the best drawings I have ever made in my entire life." He'd spent years studying anatomy, certain skills, but had never had the structures to put it all together, the tricks I take for granted, the framework. He kept flipping back through the pages, a look of happiness on his face that I'd seldom seen on him. It was amazing to make such a difference in such a small but significant way.
Over time, I've gotten distracted and spun out like a length of thread. I maintained that getting a Masters and becoming a professor were a good way to deal with my life and the trials brought on by my body's insufferable medical condition, but I'd forgotten something important.
I really want to teach.
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