Not Mitch

When I was taking art classes the first time, there was a guy in my painting classes. I am calling him "Mitch", which is not his name. I am using the name Mitch because I don't know anybody with that name. But the rest of it is true.

Mitch took painting classes, and no other art classes because, as he said, all he wanted to do was paint so why take other classes? I have no objection to that in theory, but it wasn't getting him closer to getting a degree if that's what he wanted, and there are only so many painting classes you can take before you run out. But that's what he wanted to do.

He painted abstracts. Do not, for even one single moment think that I dislike abstract art. (I LOVE abstract - its like music that doesn't need words - but that's a different post.) All of his work was done in oil, with a very tiny brush, using teeny tiny brush strokes, to make teeny tiny areas of colors covering large spaces of canvas or masonite. There was no variety to his work, in color or composition - all of his paintings looked pretty much the same, and he didn't name or number them so nobody could tell them apart. Including Mitch.

Mitch did not do class assignments. We generally had something assigned weekly, some technique or media we were to explore. None of the assignments were a hardship. Nobody needed to repaint the Sistine Chapel. But I found that the assignments, even the ones I did not enjoy or do well or both, were useful to explore new avenues of art. Mitch said that he didn't need to do assignments because he already knew everything he needed to know to paint.

After finishing a piece, Mitch would take it home and add it to the stack of paintings he said he had at home. He did not try to show or sell his work. He would not contribute to the quarterly student shows the art department put on. When asked, he said that people who were interested would find his work. I don't know how they could since nobody outside of painting classes ever saw any of the paintings, but he seemed to think that word would spread.

I did not understand Mitch's work, nor did I even really like it. Canvases filled with tiny strokes of various colors, with no compositional or design elements to make them interesting are not what I enjoy. But Mitch was happy working on his little strokes of colors.

Was it art? Must be. Art is what makes you happy.