Interesting Joe :) I didn't know you were training for a marathon.
Andrew, this is an interesting question. When I visited your art studio at Claremont I saw all kinds of art. I didn't know that people used some of the mediums I saw.
What do you consider art to be Andrew? This is a question I have not thought about too much. I think art, however, has something to do with self expression, emotion, creativity, and individuality. I also think different people appreciate different forms of art.
I don't really know how to answer this question. Do they talk about the definitions of art in art school?
I am up in Logan this weekend and Emily and I went to a yearly summer event to see a lot of art and crafts at booths that are around the tabernacle. I think that what is considered art is personal to everyone. I like art that is original, that shows personality, emotion and feeling. I saw many things at booths that I would not consider art, but others probably do. Art to me is something that you create or capture (such as a photo or a painting) that contains feelings, a moment, a thought, vibrant color or motion. When I would paint, I would paint differently based on what I was listening to, my mood, or other factors.
I don’t think I can define art, but I believe all of you—like all children—came from heaven as natural artists. I don't remember how much Mother talked about making art. She just encouraged you to do it. As soon as you could hold a crayon or pencil or a marker in your little hand, she had you doing your art, usually on paper, but also on just about anything she could come up with.
Your early art—which you all started while you were still sitting in your high chair and then continued at the kitchen table—was the pure, simple, and honest art that only little children can do and that you have now all forgotten how to make and couldn't duplicate even if you tried.
Some of your art always ended up on the walls of our home. Early on, it was your little pieces of paper that Mother hung up on the kitchen walls with thumb tacks or Scotch tapes or on the front of the refrigerator with magnets. All of you did some of your art directly on the walls. We would discover your little scribble in the most interesting places. I don’t think we ever punished you very sternly for "coloring on the walls." We just scrubbed your art off, or had you do it, or let it stay until we repainted. (We did preserve some of your graffiti—you can see it in the two cubby holes in Mary’s room.)
I can visualize at least some of the art that all of you did later. Much has hung in frames on our walls through the years. I remember Amy’s yellow flowers; Alison’s tortoise shell that she painted on a brown paper bag; Ann’s trio of Great-grandmother Marie Goddaeus she painted while she was studying art at BYU; Mark’s large mural depicting the Savior that he painted on the east wall of his basement bedroom while he was in high school (I still feel a tinge of sadness when I remember how I painted over it while he was on his mission in Panama); Eliza’s large picture of Mother holding Mary at Taggert Lake and of Andrew at the fire station; Andrew’s Brazil and wire and houses and temples and cities on hills; Abigail’s painting of Mother and I in front of the temple on our wedding day; Jonathan’s Reflections entry showing himself as a little boy (Mother always had each of you enter the Reflections contest every year at Butler Elementary); Joseph’s small rural scene with the barn in oil and the study of chickens; Christina’s bronze that she sculpted and fired while she as at Brighton High School; Mary’s ceramics (some of them are up in her room); and Michael’s little monster on a piece of paper that hung in my office for many years.
Of all the art you did, none was sweeter than your first simple pictures you drew at the kitchen table and on the walls throughout the house. Would that we had saved every scrap of paper and had not been so eager to scrub and repaint the walls.
i was only going to make a short comment about art but then it turned into a 7 page sermon. so i have learned - after many emotional letters written after midnight - that sometimes if i wait to send the emotional email or letter till morning, then sometimes i am glad i didn't send the letter. so i think i will wait till morning to see if i want to post my preachy 7 page art sermon.
man i pooed my pants on my mission once. i was sitting in this little brazilian house studing the scriptures and all of a sudden i had to go - and it just all came out before i could make it to the shower - so - i just got in the shower and cleaned up - and went on studying. i don't know if i told my companion i pooed my pants. i wonder if i will poo my pants when i am an old man and i wonder if i will dare to ask for help. once when i was a senior high school i was working with grandpa ballstaedt in his yard - we were both on our knees howing. and i looked over and almost in slow motion grandpa fell over. i kind of just looked at him on the ground - in slow motion i looked at him - and he looked at me - in slow motion - and he never said a word - and then i grabbed his arm and pulled him back up and grandpa just kept howing the ground - he acted like nothing happened. i wonder if he was embarrassed. i kind of don't think so because i think he was so serious about getting his yard to look nice that he didn't have time to worry about falling down and having his grandson pick him up. i think he was like 90 years old. he was a cool grandpa.
I don't know how to "define" art, but I know that our Savior is a good artist. I don't think I enjoy many things more than being in the outdoors enjoying the mountains or the birds or the sound of a close by river. That is great art.
11 comments:
I feel very strongly about this. This is what art is (and there really can't be any disputing this):
"the dead body of an animal that has been killed on a road by a vehicle."
Actually, that is what a road kill is. But its just as close as some definitions I've heard.
I just want you all to know that I pooped my pants running a few weeks ago. Training for a marathon is hard--it kicks the poop out of you.
Interesting Joe :) I didn't know you were training for a marathon.
Andrew, this is an interesting question. When I visited your art studio at Claremont I saw all kinds of art. I didn't know that people used some of the mediums I saw.
What do you consider art to be Andrew? This is a question I have not thought about too much. I think art, however, has something to do with self expression, emotion, creativity, and individuality. I also think different people appreciate different forms of art.
I don't really know how to answer this question. Do they talk about the definitions of art in art school?
I am up in Logan this weekend and Emily and I went to a yearly summer event to see a lot of art and crafts at booths that are around the tabernacle. I think that what is considered art is personal to everyone. I like art that is original, that shows personality, emotion and feeling. I saw many things at booths that I would not consider art, but others probably do. Art to me is something that you create or capture (such as a photo or a painting) that contains feelings, a moment, a thought, vibrant color or motion. When I would paint, I would paint differently based on what I was listening to, my mood, or other factors.
Children,
I don’t think I can define art, but I believe all of you—like all children—came from heaven as natural artists. I don't remember how much Mother talked about making art. She just encouraged you to do it. As soon as you could hold a crayon or pencil or a marker in your little hand, she had you doing your art, usually on paper, but also on just about anything she could come up with.
Your early art—which you all started while you were still sitting in your high chair and then continued at the kitchen table—was the pure, simple, and honest art that only little children can do and that you have now all forgotten how to make and couldn't duplicate even if you tried.
Some of your art always ended up on the walls of our home. Early on, it was your little pieces of paper that Mother hung up on the kitchen walls with thumb tacks or Scotch tapes or on the front of the refrigerator with magnets. All of you did some of your art directly on the walls. We would discover your little scribble in the most interesting places. I don’t think we ever punished you very sternly for "coloring on the walls." We just scrubbed your art off, or had you do it, or let it stay until we repainted. (We did preserve some of your graffiti—you can see it in the two cubby holes in Mary’s room.)
I can visualize at least some of the art that all of you did later. Much has hung in frames on our walls through the years. I remember Amy’s yellow flowers; Alison’s tortoise shell that she painted on a brown paper bag; Ann’s trio of Great-grandmother Marie Goddaeus she painted while she was studying art at BYU; Mark’s large mural depicting the Savior that he painted on the east wall of his basement bedroom while he was in high school (I still feel a tinge of sadness when I remember how I painted over it while he was on his mission in Panama); Eliza’s large picture of Mother holding Mary at Taggert Lake and of Andrew at the fire station; Andrew’s Brazil and wire and houses and temples and cities on hills; Abigail’s painting of Mother and I in front of the temple on our wedding day; Jonathan’s Reflections entry showing himself as a little boy (Mother always had each of you enter the Reflections contest every year at Butler Elementary); Joseph’s small rural scene with the barn in oil and the study of chickens; Christina’s bronze that she sculpted and fired while she as at Brighton High School; Mary’s ceramics (some of them are up in her room); and Michael’s little monster on a piece of paper that hung in my office for many years.
Of all the art you did, none was sweeter than your first simple pictures you drew at the kitchen table and on the walls throughout the house. Would that we had saved every scrap of paper and had not been so eager to scrub and repaint the walls.
Love,
Dad
I don' t really know what to say...I agree that it's hard to define what art is and that it's different for everyone. Just do it.
i was only going to make a short comment about art but then it turned into a 7 page sermon. so i have learned - after many emotional letters written after midnight - that sometimes if i wait to send the emotional email or letter till morning, then sometimes i am glad i didn't send the letter. so i think i will wait till morning to see if i want to post my preachy 7 page art sermon.
man
i pooed my pants on my mission once. i was sitting in this little brazilian house studing the scriptures and all of a sudden i had to go - and it just all came out before i could make it to the shower - so - i just got in the shower and cleaned up - and went on studying. i don't know if i told my companion i pooed my pants. i wonder if i will poo my pants when i am an old man and i wonder if i will dare to ask for help. once when i was a senior high school i was working with grandpa ballstaedt in his yard - we were both on our knees howing. and i looked over and almost in slow motion grandpa fell over. i kind of just looked at him on the ground - in slow motion i looked at him - and he looked at me - in slow motion - and he never said a word - and then i grabbed his arm and pulled him back up and grandpa just kept howing the ground - he acted like nothing happened. i wonder if he was embarrassed. i kind of don't think so because i think he was so serious about getting his yard to look nice that he didn't have time to worry about falling down and having his grandson pick him up. i think he was like 90 years old. he was a cool grandpa.
Andrew, I cannot stop laughing. You are so wonderful! Don't ever change!
I don't know how to "define" art, but I know that our Savior is a good artist. I don't think I enjoy many things more than being in the outdoors enjoying the mountains or the birds or the sound of a close by river. That is great art.
Post a Comment