Art asks for time

A discussion on learning.

I am fascinated by progress and how the world reshapes itself into the form of its current era. I am noticing such an increase in the unpracticed. People are taking on art and executing it without relevant experience or qualifications. Of course, art can be self-taught, but there seems to be less desire for the learning and a more immediate want to be something. For instance, I have seen workshops by people with no writing credits. I have seen graphic designers get jobs after spending a little time on Canva. There is more to art than the art. The practice is more than part of the process; it is the first brush stroke of any painting or the first line of any poem. The history of us details our discovery of voice. Our art is a species like any other. It starts animalistic, and we must hone our skills to know fire. There is such a hurry to evolve, a rush to weld the weapon before we even identify the enemy.

I believe in learning slow. I am educated methodically, yet still learning. I attend beginner workshops, and when I run my own, I ask the people I teach for feedback on my work because every opinion is a watering. Everybody has something valuable to say, even if it’s negative. I have always believed in my work being universal. Through the language I use to the way I execute a poem. Sometimes I tuck in a hidden meaning for those who want to dig deeper, but I am always trying to leave something at face value that matters. This took practice. This wasn’t me deciding I wanted to be a writer and then waking up the next morning established. I had to go and get published, get honest feedback, and learn where my writing was struggling. If you pick up some of my older caveman poems, you’ll hear my voice, but there is less finesse, and a lot of them were bashed together with rocks. It is a joy for me to read through old work and see that my art has evolved. It is a testament to the work I have done. Even old newsletters feel incomplete or need to be executed better. I am still learning.

I have noticed that the passion for learning sadly feels low, yet the desire to be known for an art is at an all-time high. Which then poses the question: Without the work, can you truly teach? I see workshops from people who have only self-published, and I am not here to take away your achievements, but you need something from the outside world to challenge you. If I printed out all of my rejection emails, I could reverse-engineer a forest. I have been published over 150 times, but my success rate is probably under 50%. Every rejection allows me to reenter a poem or a manuscript and rework it slightly. Instead of being angered, I try to see it from their point of view. I look for ways to improve it. The more art we make, the better we get, and when we are rejected, acceptance means so much more. It reassures us that we are moving forward and growing. What we class as failure is often just a vital learning moment. We have to take those moments and really dig into them so we can naturally evolve. Art asks for time, and in return, you will be granted its secrets.

At a recent beginner workshop, I would wager that the person running it would benefit more by being an attendee. Again, no disrespect, but there was an obvious lack of understanding regarding line breaks and how to efficiently end a poem. You cannot do that with science or math. You cannot teach algebra unless you understand its concepts, and the same should go for art. I adore drawing and being a visual artist, but I have no clue about proper technique or the terminology associated with it, so I would not teach it. There is a steep learning curve I would have to conquer before that even became a consideration.

Please don’t take this as something meant to discourage you; itis meant to do the opposite. Woofenberry exists because I want to give people the proper tools to improve their writing and reach a point where they have something to pass forward. This is my area of expertise because I have invested years of study and countless hours of reading. Now, I am lucky to learn through teaching people. The feedback I get and the ideas people share help me improve. An exercise I did three years ago might still be in one of my workshops, but I have chipped away at it and made it better based on feedback. There will never be a time when I am too good for anything. A workshop at any level is still a vital tool for me, and we should attend these if we want to improve, especially if we intend to teach people. It took me a long time to figure out how to properly reach people and critique properly. I still have a long way to go. I am still learning.

Whatever your art is or wherever you may be on your journey, I implore you to fall in love with the learning. No matter how experienced you may be or how good you are, I promise there is something more to learn. It may not be a technique, but it could be a style of execution. How are other artists pushing boundaries? If you are a spoken-word artist, then what other voices are out there? Last week, I heard a poet use one of the most interesting cadences, and it was so inspiring to witness something new. We’re in dire need of people teaching poetry outside mainstream environments, but we must ensure the learning is done correctly. Teaching bad writing habits or relaying misinformation is as damaging as outdated curricula. When it comes to children, engagement and making poetry fun are the most important. I recently taught a child what Cantos is, but we did it through Mr. Cantos and his clan’s story. It made them eager to learn, and by the end, they couldn’t wait for the next lesson. We owe the history of art to our existence within it, and we must always pay homage to it. No matter how much you may dislike Shakespeare or the complication of the sonnet, knowing the elements of it and keeping people aware of the traditional form is vital. This doesn’t mean we can’t deviate from the course. You can experiment with form and create different versions of it, but make it clear that you have evolved into the scientist. Always carry the echo of yesterday onward.

Finally, do not rush your evolution. Wherever you are on your art journey, you are supposed to be there. I know it can be frustrating to see people doing big things, and I know the feeling of wanting to be at a certain level, but if we rush our way there, the authenticity will get lost, and we will drown. You will get wherever you want, but there is no guaranteed timeline. Read, write, and don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Put your art out into the world and let it be perceived. It is an art within itself not to take feedback personally, but again, this is learnt. Evolution is an agony sometimes, but every word you write is advancing your skills. Take it slow. Take in the carvings on the cave walls, be proud of every fire you make without getting burnt. We are all capable of great things, but it takes time, and secretly, that is the best part. Starting small is okay. You will get bigger slowly. Remember, we will die unfinished and still learning, so enjoy every lesson along the way.

Keep Kind and Stay True Woofenberry’s