We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Susan Moss. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Susan below.
Susan, appreciate you joining us today. How did you learn to do what you do? Knowing what you know now, what could you have done to speed up your learning process? What skills do you think were most essential? What obstacles stood in the way of learning more?
Some visual arts disciplines require a long period of study, apprenticeship, practice. I salute that! But, for me, learning to draw, paint, sew, and embroider began at a very young age and proceeded informally without much guidance. I always wanted to engage with materials, try things even when I didn’t know how, test ambitious (for me) ideas… and, often fail. I was honing my craft without knowing that was what I was doing. Later, I began to see these skills as a path to making art. I believe that at some point visual artists have to apprentice to themselves, rather than a teacher or master craftsperson. And, that plowing ahead, making mistakes, and learning through the process is essential. Does this sound like a teacher talking? Well, I am also a teacher. I encourage my students to withhold judgment and leave the door open to mistakes. Each day when I step into the studio I try to remind myself of the same. Instead of learning my craft, I’m inventing my craft. And, invention also means accepting failure as part of the gift of being an artist. I credit William Kentridge for saying it best; his advice is to make room for stupidity in the studio! (Kentridge: Six Drawing Lessons).
Susan, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?
Thirty years ago I was a widowed, single mom, with two wonderful little boys, and was working as marketing director at a large psychiatric hospital. I had studied both art and psychology in college and continued to be involved in art avocationally. When a change in management at my job took a negative turn, it became an opportunity. I quit, enrolled in an MFA program, and never looked back. Easy to say now, but it was scary at the time. Miraculously, I was hired as an assistant professor of art and design. With that, in addition to teaching, my art practice became front and center and public. I think that my own crooked path to being serious about art made me a better teacher. At the same time, my students – their questions, challenges, accomplishments, and sometimes real fearlessness – offered ongoing renewal for my own art making. I want to acknowledge those students, along with many others who have inspired me and offered support – my children, family, friends, teachers, and colleagues. It doesn’t have to be a lonely path.
What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?
Perfection isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. I’ve learned, s l o w l y, that always striving for perfection and chastising myself when I fall short are wrong in at least two ways. First, perfection as a goal is a great way to inhibit creativity. That’s not what an artist needs. Second, imperfection can offer expressive possibilities beyond its perfect alternatives. So, focusing on perfection doesn’t necessarily serve creative process or successful art making. As an artist, I tune in to where and when perfection matters and where it’s counterproductive. And, temperamentally, I am much less interested in technical perfection and more interested in exploration and discovery.
How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?
An artist teacher, Sandra Brownlee, for whom I have tremendous respect, once told me about her experience teaching in an underfunded elementary school. As with many public school art teachers she was a nomad; that is, there wasn’t a dedicated space for art. She had to move from room to room carrying her supplies and creating the best teaching environment possible in a challenging situation. She wanted her students to know that something valued would happen when they stepped into her art class. She carried a curtain and rod with her and hung it at the door to her classroom, so students had to pull back the curtain as they entered. This small effort marked the space as special and added enormous value to the experience inside. What are the small and big ways we can acknowledge art and art making as, not just special, but valuable? As artists, we can tell our stories. To do so, in addition to honing art making skills, we need to develop our communicative skills. Some artists seem to be naturals at this. But many. of us need to hone our skills in reading, writing, and speaking so we can be more articulate about what we do and why it matters. While more societal support would be great, we artists have to speak up, too, in ways that are honest and compelling. Thank you, CanvasRebel, for the opportunity to do so. And, for other artists, I recommend Anne West’s “Mapping: the intelligence of artistic work.” Through writing prompts and reflection, she offers a guide to becoming more articulate about one’s process and art.
Contact Info:
- Website: susanmmoss.com
Image Credits
Mariah Richstone