What comes in between

Studying into the past, that's something we can all profit by."\nThese were the words of an artist. They were the first words he offered to a class studying modern art. Yet for the benefit of all, it might behoove us to consider them in a broader context. \nSlowly making his way to a small seat at the head of a conference table on the third floor of the IU Art Museum, painter Robert Colescott struggled with those words, but not the ideas.\nFor the benefit of a small interdisciplinary course, this aging modern art hero responded to questions offered by the students crossing age and academic boundaries. Yet suffering from the effects of a Parkinsonian syndrome -- presumably the product of years of exposure to the toxins of his art supplies in poorly ventilated work spaces -- the answers were not so easily discovered. To the naïve observer, this visibly off-putting disability brought about by the very tools that provide for his sustenance seemed to slow the mind of the once rocket-propelled visionary, creating a discourse consisting of the sketchbook wanderings of an old man's memory.\nHowever, what did emerge from his lips were not the academic responses of a visiting lecturer eager to promote his or her own resumé, there was wisdom. It was the wisdom of a true educator -- something of an art in and of itself -- that at the end of the hour, said about paintings, truly said more of life.\nThere was gravity to his voice. The phrases undulated slowly, almost mystic in their cryptic relation to the questions actually posed.\n"We make our own bed. Sometimes it's pretty darn hard to do. It doesn't stop."\nOnly when the mind is free of it's "active" censorship can it speak so frankly about its own existence. Our lives have finality, but before we get there, we face constant activity. We can spend it doing a number of different things, but to Colescott, there is one thing we should make sure to pencil in. \n"It's necessary to paint some lousy paintings."\nOr write some lousy papers, or eat some lousy food or love some lousy women. \nBecause, by Colescott's insight, "You can't learn if you're a perennial genius."\nIn-between the fragmented responses of this thoughtful, short, bearded man, there was a theme. Living a life of travels continually perfecting his craft, the man seemingly knows a thing or two about education.\nHe stressed that what was more important than formulas or even technical mastery was what he named "open-endedness."\n"I hope I can help people work in ways that are open-ended. You're carrying stuff that's been looked at before. I say you have to get rid of that work, get rid of those ideas."\nEverything gets old, even if you get good at it. Our lives are short and the impact of our actions possibly a lot less meaningful than we'd like to believe. The only recourse from this harsh reality is to continually advance the self, not our production. Constant learning is the key.\nThat's what we're all doing here, right?\nBut Colescott was referring to something more. He spoke of a place "where anything works." It is the idea that our old notions of good work and personal missions are simply that: old notions. That beyond what we see for ourselves in terms of our majors and career paths lies a self that grows simply because it isn't planted. \n"The quality of your education is the quality of your life."\nIt's worth our time to wonder if we measure up -- to both those ideas and to our own standards. Are we quality? Are we finding a use for this knowledge and these years?\nOr is our bed already made?