What is Art?

The students flood the hallways on their way to their next period. They cross the threshold to my Art Room, wondering what kind of teacher I am and what they'll be doing in my class. From the look on their faces, I can tell that some of them think that art is bullshit simply by the way they express their body language. These students swing their arms; entering obnoxiously, loudly and without respect for the bell that's already rung. Those who are happy to have a class that is some type of creative outlet are the first to take their seats, where they sit patiently with their hands folded on the tabletop. I internally embrace them all, hoping I'll be able to encourage those who don't care and foster the gifts of those who are already truly blessed.

I stand in the front of the room and wait till everyone is settled. It can take a few minutes. A new teacher and a new class is exciting. Some whisper to each other while others openly call out across the room. I stand patiently, my rear pressing against the teacher's desk. When the din dwindles I introduce myself and ask my class a very simple question: What is art?

Confused faces stare back at me. Some eyebrows are raised and a few less serious students chuckle.

"Painting," one shouts to the room at large.

I nod my head and purse my lips that the example fits my definition, but I push them further, asking what else fits the word.

"Clay stuff!" another adds.

"And drawing," a shy girl mutters.

I smile and move closer to the tables and away from the chalkboard. I slam both my hands flat against the tabletop in the front and grin as I hear the echo of the sound bounce around the room. Those in front of me jump, and others toward the back stare shocked with wide eyes.  I see I have their attention now. My gesture is abrupt and unexpected. A few students look to one another, trying to understand why I'd do something so strange.

"This is sturdy, isn't it?" I ask their curious eyes. "Someone had to design this table so it wouldn't fall down when I smacked it."

Some light bulbs flash above a handful of heads, but not everyone. I walk behind one of the obnoxious students, who is busy tapping his knee with his fingertips and bobbing his head to the music only he can hear. I drag the chair he's sitting on a few feet, causing him alarm.

"And this chair?" The kid hears my words, but he doesn't make sense of them. I look down at him. "What do you think of this chair?"

He's flustered to be singled out and glares at me. "It's just a chair, Miss."

I shrug my eyebrows at him and turn away. "It's great, isn't it? Maybe it's not a brand name you know, or the most comfortable, or even the nicest thing to look at, but it's still a chair. Someone chose the bland color. Someone decided how tall to make the legs and how your high school butt should fit in the seat."

A few female students giggle and I'm pleased that no one else is drumming their fingers or looking anywhere except at me.

"Is the whole world not made of art?" I walk toward the back of the room with a casual step. I feel multiple eyes on me, wondering what I'm going to do next. "Art is everywhere. Everywhere you see colors and shapes. Next time you're on the highway looking out over the city, let your eyes see it. Man makes rigid lines, buildings of rectangles and squares, while nature creates fluid shapes and colors we still have no names for."

"That's deep, Miss," a bold student interrupts.

"It's deeper when you stop to think about it," I tell him directly. "Every shape and color of a man made thing were chosen by a designer, engineer or architect. Someone has to make decisions. Someone has to say how big, how heavy, and what their creation does. Some art is painting, ceramics, paper crafts or drawing, but don't ever forget music, architecture, or the simple everyday objects you use, from your toilet to your pencil, were all created by someone for a purpose."

More light bulbs go on and I'm pleased. I'm forcing my students to think about the small box they live inside. They don't realize how truly ignorant they are. The world takes for granted that which they are never asked to think about.

"So what is art? What is it for?" I'm in teacher mode now, and I move back to the front of the room to explain more. "Art can be something you hang on the wall for the pleasure of decoration, or it can be your favorite coffee mug. It's the weight of the paper you write on and the sound you hear from your MP3 player. It's the wild ride that loops upside down at the theme park and the color of your artificial cotton candy. I never understood why Carnies make it pink or blue. It doesn't have a flavor represented by color. Anyway, it doesn't matter if what you call art is beautiful or ugly, functional or decoration, because art is different for each person. What I want you all to know," I say, turning to face them all again, "is that no matter where you go, or what you do in your life, you will always be surrounded by art. Art is what you make it and what you want it to be, and there is no right answer."

All the light bulbs are lit now and I smile. I'm excited. I silently prey to the art gods that I'll be able to push my students out of their boxes to a place where anything can happen. It's in that place where creativity can be explored without restraint, hesitation or prejudice. That's the way it should be.