How teachers make a difference

Fortunately, while the Covid virus continues to rage on, many individuals have emerged as leaders in our community. Health care and law-enforcement professionals come to mind but teachers also belong in this category. Like their peers in the helping professions, teachers go about their business in the face of great stress and uncertainly. Teachers do not literally help people survive, but they help others discover for themselves what is positive and wholesome. They imbue people with hope and help them shape their potential into reality. A kind word, a new discovery, a modelled behaviour, a life skill—all these can help young people move forward with confidence.

When teachers are asked about the reason for entering the profession, they will invariably answer that they became teachers to make a difference. Because teachers were first students themselves, they likely first thought about getting into education as a response to a problem they encountered along the way. A boring teacher? They could do better. A stale, outdated curriculum? They could present the latest research with flair and energy. A social crisis? They would address it with empathy and compassion.

But what does making a difference actually look like in the classroom? And is it measurable?

Most teachers see themselves as innovators or subversives. They are filled with a curious blend of idealism and pragmatism. They dream of what is better and have an eye on what is possible. A general dissatisfaction with how things are dominates their thinking. At their very core is a desire to improve the world.

Unfortunately, kids have a staggering number of needs. They need a practical literacy in math, language, history, science and technology. They need to learn problem solving and reasoning skills. They need to see adult examples of reasonable and moral behaviour. They need to learn standards of excellence that result from healthy competition and they need to experience the joy that comes from collaboration with their peers. They need to experience fairness and learn to choose optimism in the face of difficulty. They need to celebrate the opportunities that their unique life presents to them. Above all, like their parents before them, young people need to learn self-control.

A part of the difference a teacher can make in a student’s life can be measured and assessed. Tests, the completion of projects, assignments, exams —all these act as accurate snapshots in time of a student’s ability to understand a concept or her ability to perform a task.

The second part, however, has to do with a student’s character. Will he navigate present and future relationships successfully? Will she stand up to injustices in society? This skill set is more subtle and sometimes impossible to evaluate while kids are in school. This is because it takes a very long time for humans to mature.

Those who go through the school system and lament that a certain skill or subject in the curriculum should have been excluded in place of something more practical seem to forget that schools do not just serve the marketplace. Schools also strive to shape individuals into citizens whose goal it is to improve society and help preserve our democracy.

It is generally agreed that the sign of an educated individual is tolerance for diversity and the ability to delay gratification. That teachers sometimes fail to prepare students in this way is not a criticism or condemnation of teachers. It only demonstrates the enormity of student needs and the complexity of working with “live” human beings.

Most of us do not remember who first taught us to read or how it is that we finally learned to tie our shoes. Later in life, someone must have taught us to think for ourselves or become aware of our aptitudes and risk following our dreams. Unfortunately, most of us take these milestones in our lives for granted.

Just the same, it is not mere exaggeration to say that, if there is anything in life that we do successfully, it is probably because a teacher took the time to help us learn it along the way.

Human frailty and an Elvis tribute band

Some 17 years ago I had the opportunity to join an Elvis tribute band. It was a dream come true. I was a drummer who loved all sorts of rock songs but Elvis’s music was special. As a youngster I had been raised on the holy trinity of rock: the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Elvis.

Sometimes I would play a game in my head. What if I could only choose one artist for the rest of time? The Beatles and Stones tied in the group category, but if it were to be just one single artist Elvis would be my choice hands down.

I loved everything about him. His look, his voice and his generous spirit. And now here I was playing the same music on stage! I remember as a teenager watching Elvis TV specials from Vegas and marvelling at his acrobatic drummer, Ronnie Tutt. That cat could play! At every twitch, snarl or eyebrow lift, at every bump and grind performed by the King —Tutt would hit a tom or the perfect cymbal crash.

Our band, on the other hand, was a mixed bag. Many of us were inexperienced and, truth be told, we were really undeserving of the attention that we received. Some of us had only played a couple years. Others were working on their third decade as touring musicians.

What I saw, however, is that we got crowds quicker than most bands because of the Elvis brand. Unwittingly, we had tapped into a bona fide Elvis personality cult. It is strange to perform on stage to an enthusiastic audience and know at the same time that you have little to do with generating their enthusiasm.

One particular experience I want to relate took place at one of the very first concerts our tribute band gave. It was outdoors at the Island Stage in downtown Kelowna, in August 2003. With 14 members in the band, we were the largest Elvis tribute ensemble in the country. (Later we even grew to 17) Unfortunately, we were not very good that night.

Our singer, our rhythm section, our 5 piece horn section, our backup singers —we all took turns screwing up the notes, the timing, our solos and tempos. At times we were off key. More embarrassing than that, sometimes the band was on a different section of the tune than the lead singer. We had no business getting any applause and should not have taken the gig.

Just the same, some 1200 people sat on a hill in front of us and behaved like we were the real deal. Their deference to us really demonstrated something I still think about to this day.

Not just that Elvis had such a sway on people that virtually anyone donning a jump suit and lip-synching his tunes would be guaranteed an audience. This is absolutely true because the Elvis brand is powerful**, but there was another thing that I noticed that night. Namely that human beings appear so fragile and that they are hungry for leadership of any kind. When I looked out into the audience i saw people looking for hope and direction. They enjoyed the music but strangely had also come for something akin to a spiritual revival.

In the late eighties I was attending UBC in Vancouver. During this time I would walk to my classes across the vast campus and on my way I would hear improvised speeches and view presentations given on actual soap boxes. Christians and members of other religions, members of the Atheist Club, the Communist Club or Fascism Club, gays and lesbians, you name it — all sorts of individuals and groups asked for your attention and support on the spot. Some would give out leaflets and others would invite you to a coming event.

What I noticed then was that anyone —and I mean anyone—who held some type of firm conviction would gain an audience of some kind. The validity of the ideas presented did not seem to matter. People were just impressed that someone could be so sure about something that they themselves had not considered. This sureness alone seemed very important to the individuals that stopped to listen.

My university experience coupled with my stint in the Elvis band taught me that each of us has a fragile compass needle on the inside. We are not super sure of ourselves. We are doing the best we can with life’s challenges, but we are vulnerable to the influence of people who speak with force and conviction. We are not necessarily naive but we are definitely prone to follow someone who “knows the way.” For some, facts presented in a leaflet look official enough to believe. To others, the charisma and talent of a person like Elvis are enough to win their trust.

Three more years passed and then our Elvis tribute band ended in typical rock fashion. Some members left and the band evolved into another cover band. Eventually we all lost interest and went our separate ways. My Elvis experience had ended but I have never forgotten what I learned about human nature and its frailty.

** I have seen grotesque characters wearing home made jump suits mangle Elvis songs with a Karaoke machine and women still line up at the end of the show to get a sweat-drenched lei from the tribute artist as if he were Elvis himself!

It's your turn!

When you are young, life is inherently frustrating. Everything is new but time drags on and there is so much to learn, so many people to imitate. People defer to you for your good looks and possible potential, but no one seriously believes that you are ready for independence. Your loved ones and the school system have an agenda for you. Everywhere you turn there are commitments and responsibilities to accept.

Fortunately, your imagination offers a respite from your current training and indoctrination. Unable to stop the social pressure to conform, you turn to flights of fancy in order to survive.

What you crave is genuine excitement. You read about travel, mythical beings and monsters to slay. You go to the movies and fantasize about acts of heroism. You see yourself as someone who is consequential. Meanwhile you wait. You wait for adult approval and trust. You wait for opportunities to prove your worth and talent.

As you grow up you reject the advice of others, but you desperately want external approval. Society drones on with one request after another. The judgments of your peers, however, are gospel truth.

But how long before you can join the others on the dance floor? When does life actually get real?

Probably when you first encounter death. The death of your neighbour or some prominent figure. The death of a pet or an immediate family member. In time calamities begin to enter your orbit and it dawns on you that you are not exempt from suffering after all.

As you mature, it becomes harder to deny personal flaws and you learn to blame others less and less. Broken relationships, negative experiences on the job, debt and disease knock on your door and their sound is deafening. A general malaise come over you. How could you have been so blind?

Finally you enter full adulthood. You no longer need to conjure interesting scenarios. Reality seems challenging enough. You take up your harness alongside the others. You have enough on your proverbial plate.

Like the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, you had wanted a comfortable life but it was not to be. You know too much. You’ve seen too much and now you have to do your part. Your turn has finally arrived and it’s time to make a contribution. Fear be damned!

The importance of curiosity

I was thinking this morning that my curiosity has been a steady guide in my life. If it weren’t for the fact that I am curious about things, I might not ever leave my bed to achieve anything. Life holds discomfort and pain, but —surprisingly— I remain curious about how it unfolds and where it leads. Death promises to reveal something, too.

When I was 8 or so, I began to doodle. Mom and dad took notice and encouraged me. Doodling led to more serious drawing and drawing led to my love for cartooning.

I don’t know why I love to draw. I can only say that I find it magical to draw a line and create an illusion for the eye. Sometimes when I draw caricatures at a party my subject will say that she can’t wait to see the finished drawing. I usually reply with “Me too!” At that point she looks at me with doubt but I’m not lying. I also wonder what the finished drawing will look like.

As I moved through school I took an interest in a number of activities. I loved telling jokes and getting laughs from my friends. I loved to listen to music and wondered how exciting it would be to play drums in a rock band. I also loved to argue. I enjoyed presenting facts in support of a point of view. It was great fun to see if I could build a case that was beyond reproach.

Of all my interests and experiences, perhaps my love for writing is the best example of my curiosity at work. When I start to write I usually do not know what I believe and what it is that I want to say. I only have a general direction. By writing down snippets I frame the boundaries and then a path emerges for me to follow. By writing about something I come to understand what I think about it. Writing is a path to the awareness that satisfies my curiosity.

Over the years, curiosity has not just led me to more learning or greater awareness. Sometimes it has been a valuable counsellor.

At times life beats you down and it seems impossible to go on. I have not pondered suicide to the point of attempting it, but I have felt despair on numerous occasions. What kept me from self harm? Curiosity. My life will come to its natural conclusion soon enough. In the meantime, I am interested to see what happens next.

It is “curious” to consider that the things that enter our lives may have little to do with providence or special inspiration. It could just be that we were curious enough to engage in them. The activities, relationships, and careers that we pursue might stem from our fundamental need to know something more.

If I were choosing gifts for an individual I would first grant the gift of unlimited curiosity. Curiosity may lead to danger (it killed the proverbial cat) but it appears to be the catalyst for moving forward. It is what propels life and makes it rewarding. A satisfied curiosity might even be the optimal foundation for true joy.

Everyone wants to rule the world

As soon as you step out the front door, you meet people who want to recruit you for something. They invite you to subscribe to a philosophy or take up a certain lifestyle. Everywhere you look, someone wants to control you and lead you down a path that is not, at least initially, of your own choosing.

Mom and dad want you to do their bidding and grow up in their image. The pastor says “God loves you” but it is he who has a plan for your life. The coach tells you to follow his regimen if you want to make the team. The teacher promises academic success if you adhere to his rules. Your peers demand you imitate them. Your partner dictates your behaviour and controls your wardrobe. Social media pushes you for constant interaction and undying loyalty.

The government promises to leave you alone if you toe the line. The supermarket penalizes you if you do not use their store card. The gallery owner and the music agent will promote your art as long as it is mainstream and PC. Everywhere you look someone is all too willing to take up your cause if you relinquish some freedom and autonomy.

Why is this so? Why is everyone so controlling? And, for that matter, why am I so controlling as well? You see I have noticed this behaviour in others but I am guilty of it, too.

Humans are social animals. They need to congregate and stay connected in order to survive. After many years of evolution, members of society appear programmed to control each other through demands and appeals.

At home with family we might experience warmth and genuine affection, but in society itself we hold relationships that are mostly conditional and transactional. Here peer pressure is inescapable and there are consequences for recalcitrant individuals.

Yet all of us know someone who seems oblivious to social pressure. Doesn’t care about politics, religion or fashion. Doesn’t drive and doesn’t participate in elections. Seems to have the freedom to just be.

We envy such freedom but we shun that path because we do not want to be alone. The price of dissent is almost always isolation —sometimes death if you are unlucky.

Experts agree that the mature individual is self-reliant, knows her own mind and is not easily coerced against her will or beliefs.

A child is powerless and clueless about the way life really works, but with each passing decade —as long as trauma does not prevent it— the healthy individual sheds fake guilt and arbitrary responsibilities. She questions traditions (defined by some as “pressure from dead people”) and finally grows into her full sovereignty. If she lives long enough she may enjoy a few years where she can follow her heart. But many individuals do not make it that far.

I wonder if our experience could be different.

Wouldn’t it be something if we could grow up quicker and take charge of our lives sooner? If we had a longer period in our lives that was completely under our control and that we could call authentic?

It is impossible to know for sure what part of us is us and what part of us results from the heavy indoctrination we were subjected to as children and then later as adults. Society is a stern and thorough master.

Human beings are unique in the animal kingdom because they will sacrifice their lives for an idea. It’s just that the idea we hold in high regard and would die to defend may never have been ours to begin with.

Why on earth would you want to teach?

Usually when you tell someone you are a teacher or, as in my case, that you used to teach, people have one of two reactions. Some will be enthusiastic and ask about your experiences. They will show interest because they value teachers and because they see their own time spent in school as integral to their success and development. Others will gloss over the information and switch to another topic. Sadly, for this second group school continues to conjure up more trauma than magic. Its members hold little regard for teachers and formal education.

To those who look from the outside, teaching is indeed a puzzling career choice. Why on earth would you do it? The pay is adequate in wealthy countries but it is close to volunteer work in developing nations. The hours are reasonable with considerable vacation time but there is the “small matter” of having to handle surly children every day, all day long. To boot, society at large looks upon you as a freeloader who “teaches because he can no longer do.” Does masochism run in your family?

Indeed I can testify that teaching turned out to be more difficult than I expected. To be honest, when I contemplated it as a career choice I saw only what I could gain from such work. The hours and the holiday time were factors but I was especially impressed with the opportunity to have a captive audience at my disposal for lengthy periods of time. Egotistical, much? Afraid so.

I had spent time (and a lot of my parents’ money) to distill the truth from volumes of tripe found in dusty university libraries, and I had endured monotonous classes and seminars —all to receive the mantle of authority and legitimacy to now wax poetic about life. I could wow my students with wit, knowledge and charm. How fortunate for them that I had arrived to set their lives straight!

But how to describe my disappointment to find that my students had little interest in my passion, philosophy or knowledge? Some were mildly amused; most appeared indifferent to my perspectives and positions. Add an expletive deleted here.

Truth be told, a veritable chill goes down your spine when you see teaching for what it really is. Forget the idealism and the vocation fairy tale. The job is really part babysitting and part sales. At best, the audience is reluctant and easily distracted. Most young people know they could stand to learn some more but they are pretty sure that you will not be the one to teach them. Like the young soldier who joins the military to see the world only to realize that the battlefield is real and that some soldiers do not survive, I felt trapped and afraid. Did anybody, could anybody honestly enjoy this thankless job? Had I been scammed?

Fortunately, as I began to work at it , some valid reasons for teaching gradually emerged. Once in a while, my students’ eyes would light up with understanding. They would rejoice at a new discovery or at a concept that would confirm a personal experience. In other moments the texts we studied unlocked universal truths that they could relate to. In time I began to see that I was not just responsible for crowd control. I was actually helping people become a better version of themselves.

I also gained personally from teaching in the classroom. The adulation I first craved gave way to a sincere appreciation for the opportunity to study and think on things at length. As a young man I was inexplicably curious and here was a job that allowed me to follow my curiosity to wherever it led. What a wonderful opportunity to satisfy my craving for knowledge!

By teaching concepts to others I grew in understanding and I became more confident in my learning. Listening to the students’ ideas and perspectives caused me to grow as a person and separate the proverbial wheat from the chaff. As an added bonus, some of my students become life-long friends.

Bottom line, would I do it again? Not sure. The daily grind of mustering up enthusiasm so as to motivate apathetic kids was really tough. Several times during my career, I panicked at the possibility that I was burning out or worse yet, that I had missed my true calling. My delusion of grandeur, naiveté and excessive idealism all vanished under the cold light of the classroom.

I remember driving into the school parking lot one morning, wondering how on earth I could present a novel I had taught over 30 times before to a new group of students. I survived that day but only to face a similar challenge the next day and the next day after that.

Is there a special place in heaven for dedicated teachers? Perhaps there should be.

The Immigrant Experience

On July 12, 1966 my family and I emigrated to Canada. It was the day of my birthday and it was perhaps the greatest gift my parents could have given me. I was 8 years old at the time and my brother was 15. We had just left Italy because my parents could not see a future for their two sons in Europe.

In September of that year I started grade 3 at A.S. Matheson Elementary in Kelowna. Mrs. Heartha Jones was my classroom teacher and she took the time to teach me English for an additional hour every day after school. After approximately 6 months, I was fluent in English and was on the school honour roll but, as it turns out, I would still stumble with the meaning of words well into adulthood.

What can I tell you? I loved the grass and open space that our new country could provide. Loved the snow and ice. I loved to skate and I eventually played minor hockey and then later beer league. Italy provided no such freedom. You grew up in awe and fear of the monuments and traditions that had preceded you. The buildings dwarfed the narrow medieval streets that, centuries later, would be cluttered by cars and motorbikes. Things were clear in the old society. Do as you’re told and be ready to follow in the footsteps of your ancestors. On the other hand, how else to deal with 65 million inhabitants on a land mass 1/3 the size of B.C.?

Canada held out the promise of something more. Freedom was beckoning —to hold the job you wanted, to try new foods, relationships, even new faiths. There was space here for everything. The houses were farther apart, the streets were wider, the distances greater. There was room to be yourself!

Unfortunately, while growing up, the freedom that Canada offered was something that my brother and I were to experience only sparingly. At home we were raised in Italian fashion. Ordinary citizens of a country sometimes become fervent patriots the moment they emigrate elsewhere. At the core was my parents’ desire to preserve their identity. They feared the powerful influence that an Anglophone society could have on their children.

Dad made sure I would never forget the language. I would get weekly Italian lessons and even have to memorize contemporary Italian poetry . On Sundays it was the Catholic Church and our every day meals comprised only of Italian fare. Mom would even insist on her sons wearing Italian clothing but this eventually gave way to American fashion.

I can still picture my mother asking my friends if they had a “canottiera” or undershirt underneath their sweaters, etc. Only my mom would not be shy —she would literally yank my friends’ shirts up to see if their undershirts would show. You can imagine how long it took to live this down.

I used to joke with my Canadian friends that they needed a visa to come and visit me. My friends loved my mother’s warmth and good food. Eventually, they began to imitate my mom’s Italian accent when she tried to speak in English. Apparently, they enjoyed the culture shock of interacting with Italians as much as I enjoyed my new interactions with Canadians.

How to sum up my “Immigrant experience?”

It has been both wonderful and exhausting. I could not be the person I have become had I stayed in Europe. Culturally, I am richer for having come to North America and could never replace my new family and friends, and the myriad of rich experiences I had while growing up here.

Exhausting is the other part of my experience. Since our plane landed on Canadian soil all those years ago, I have always felt like a part of me never quite quite fit in. In the decades that have followed, I have had a constant, running tally of two cultures in my brain. Think of it as heavy baggage permanently spinning on an airport carousel.

My brother left Canada some 40 years ago because he resented the feeling of being out of place. He now resides in Spain but there is evidence to suggest that switching to another country has only compounded the problem.

My son was born in Canada 20 years ago and I am happy to report that he lacks the self doubt that plagues his old man. He is Canadian and there is little to discuss about it. His dad, on the other hand, still feels like a fish out of water.

Some thoughts about Covid-19

I have not written anything about the virus thus far because it is something I am still trying to process and respond to. To be brutally honest, I have yet to move away from the shock stage. It has been ten months since our world was thrown into chaos and uncertainty. It is boggling how our lives have changed so drastically in that time.

How am I doing? I am not sure. Grim statistics flood our T.V. screens but I am numb to them because almost all of it is happening “out there.” My fight or flight response is jumbled. In an instant I can respond to a crisis that is close to me, that affects my family. But it is difficult to respond to something that is far away and imminent simultaneously. It is exhausting to stay alert and guarded for an indeterminate amount of time.

To add to my confusion, with the exception of a new, generic anxiety that now accompanies my every move, my daily routine remains largely unchanged. I can shop for food and clothing, and I can walk my dog without restriction. When I get an idea to try a new recipe or do some handiwork around the house, I am free to look for items all over town. I wear a mask when I go into retail outlets or places of business and I constantly wash my hands with soap. Nothing heroic about that. Truth be told, my OCD has responded favourably to the new routines suggested by health authorities.

On the job front, however, it is a case of humble pie. My job as a caricaturist has virtually vanished with the cancellation of events and the banning of large gatherings. Wedding parties, trade shows, etc. —all manner of social functions have been cancelled and may take a long time to return. I do some work online but the great bulk of my income comes from drawing live at parties. If it weren’t for government help, I would be in trouble indeed.

The lack of social interaction bothers me as well. Prior to the outbreak of the virus I had struck a good balance between drawing in my basement and drawing at events throughout the Interior. Because I see myself as both an introvert and a people person, it is important for me to have predictable social interaction. These days I am stuck at home and drawing in increasingly irritating solitude.

Sometimes I am depressed from the additional screen time in my life. I bounce from my computer to my T.V. to Netflix and back again. Frustration sets in when nothing appeals on any device.

When I think of my community, I feel sorry for the elderly who are coping with this virus in the company of health professionals, away from their loved ones. I am also sad for our youth who are restricted to either work or to studying mostly academics. Deprived of playing sports in the various community leagues and unable to attend social gatherings, they have no chance to burn off energy and grow with their peers. When I used to teach high school I would meet young people who were restless. For them especially, extra-curricular activities of all types were a literal godsend.

Bottom line? I am coping all right for the time being. I know this is a marathon and not a sprint. I thank all health care professionals who are braving the front lines on our behalf. I also wish everyone a safe and happy holiday among their loved ones….and bring on the vaccine!

The things I like about Donald Trump

The American election happened three weeks ago and to my relief, Donald Trump was defeated handily by Joe Biden and the Democrats. Some 80 million people voted for Biden —the largest number of voters to vote for one man in any election in American history. Still, for those of us who politically tend to lean left of centre, it was all bittersweet. Americans did not give Trump the repudiation that many of us expected and desired.

Quite the opposite. Trump was defeated but he still received the second highest number of votes in history. Incredibly, some 74 million people voted for him and his policies.

That is not pocket change. How could so many people support someone who is a consummate liar and cheat? Someone who is amoral and absolutely self-centered? Someone who lacks empathy and has little regard for his country and its people?

CONFESSION: all of us who loathe Trump are really bothered by the large number of supporters that he has managed to persuade and even inspire. (even in Canada) Could there be two versions of reality? Are there parallel universes where Biden and Trump are valid presidential candidates, respectively? To be blunt, how could people who voted for the “other candidate” be so stupid and blind?

Recently I was thinking about what it was about Trump that appealed to so many. The list below is not exhaustive but it comprises the main traits that I would agree are positive about the man. Until you get to know him, that is.

First, the man is charming. There is an infectious energy and “can do” attitude about him when you first meet him that is hard to ignore. He appears earnest —even when he lies which is about 95% of the time. His announcements are couched in hyperbole. Everything he does is “the best anyone has ever seen.” His movements are followed by the largest crowds; his ideas result in the biggest successes, etc. There is nothing he does that could be described as average or ordinary. Common obstacles that would impede the average mortal are not for him; everything is possible and attainable. In short he is more a god than a human being.

Second, he is sure of himself like no other. Unobstructed by science, logic or even the opinion of others, he presents his reality as indisputable fact. You want to argue with his facts and interpretations but he is so enthusiastic about his version of things that, in the moment at least, you prefer to doubt yourself. How refreshing to meet someone who is so sure of….everything!

Third, he is neither complicated nor nuanced. He talks like your neighbour and not at all like a starched, two-faced politician. As such he appears accessible and relatable. He speaks without prepared notes. His movements are quick. His tempo is quick. He gets thing done. His sentences are incomplete and his logic is suspect, but you feel as if he just wants to help. He tweets like the guy down the street. He has no time for committees and delays. He has a job to do!

Fourth, there is a child-likeness about him. He always speaks his mind. He does not hide emotional outbursts and is not afraid to utter the thing that everyone else dances around. He is honest and good willed! Even when he says something fantastical, you want to gloss over the inaccuracies and just honour his apparent desire to please and be transparent with you.

Finally he is the perennial underdog that refuses to be coerced by the bullies of Washington society. He is not from Washington. He does not follow silly rules and traditions. It is entertaining and inspiring to watch him thwart and frustrate, delay and reject anyone and everyone who stands in his way. He appears courageous and oh what gall! We can’t look away. Who is this guy? Can he really get away with that? Like watching a class clown toy with a substitute teacher, he is riveting entertainment.

Unfortunately, as time passes it becomes evident that Trump the man is a very flawed human being. His words hurt real people and his actions have real, devastating consequences. What is positive about him is soon discounted by his infinite self-absorption and pathological narcissism; by his lack of empathy and general absence of normal values. He is neither a successful businessman, an honest person nor an example of success in any way.

While it is entertaining to watch someone perform without hindrance or indecision against a myriad of challenges, you would not and could not really live with such a person. Upon a closer look, he is just a shell of a man who has no plan or vision for anything. A charlatan who has managed to fool himself.

While his fellow Americans cope with the Covid virus he decides to go golfing. While his fellow Americans line up for donations of food he focuses on perpetuating the lie that the election was stolen.

It is heart-breaking to see how little about life he has really learned, by age 74. All of us fantasize about having a fraction of his financial wealth but no one would really want to trade places with such a man who is so empty inside. Years ago, in an interview with Oprah, he confessed that he was actually quite “lonely.” Perhaps this is the only time he has told the truth.

This Could be Awkward

When I draw caricatures at events I will meet people who sit down to be drawn but are nervous about it. Sometimes this surprises me because caricatures are supposed to be good fun, but then I remember that when I see caricaturists at events I also get self conscious and nervous.

No one likes to be ridiculed. People enjoy seeing themselves as cartoons, but they do not want to be embarrassed. It takes courage to sit down in front of a caricaturist.

Further, when my subjects are nervous I have noticed that my drawings never turn out as well. I pick up “their vibe” and draw more tentatively. Fear replaces flair and the whole experience is awkward indeed.

Conversely, when I have subjects who are not self conscious and are open to any scenario, situation, etc. I always draw better. They may ask me jokingly to improve aspects of their appearance but I usually counter with “I’m not a plastic surgeon” and we all have a good laugh.

My favourite subjects? Young kids, couples in love, and women over 50 who belong to a sports team or tour group. They don’t care about the end result and they are out to have fun! And these drawings almost always exceed their expectations.

Caricatures are just an excuse to connect with others and share some humour. Political correctness and social demands be damned. Life is short and we should laugh!

The Honest Artist

“Frankly, I don’t know how he does it, and I stand in a long list of admirers…I think he draws everything the way we would all like to draw.” Charles Schulz

My favourite cartoonist of all time is Mort Drucker, an American caricaturist who has drawn for MAD Magazine for 55 years. Drucker is 90 and continues to draw today in a style that could best be described as honest.

Expectations for cartoonists are lower than they are for traditional artists. Many cartoonists draw quickly and boldly, trading accuracy for flair, trading observation for assumption. “Close enough” is often the target. A near likeness, a quasi-accurate portrayal of people will do.

Not Mort. Mort is honest because he does not skimp. His drawings reflect a careful observation and attention to detail.

Poses, implied lines, squiggly lines, expressive eyebrows and hands, pursed lips, cheek bones, the weight of hair and folds in fabrics, the lighting of the room, background objects, city-scapes, etc. —all reveal a patient and clinical observation. Drucker’s knowledge of anatomy is also impressive. He knows more than what body parts look like, he knows what they do, their weight and what space they occupy under items of clothing.

Drucker is an honest reporter. He does not take short cuts.

Caricaturists rely on the exaggeration of features to lampoon their subjects but Drucker is different. The humour in his drawings results from impeccable, realistic details drawn with what can only be called a playful spirit. Just look at his depiction of hair. Can you picture his pencil (which then he would trace over in ink) flying as he conveys locks and curls? Can you see Mort smile to himself while he draws a capricious eyebrow or clenched jaw?

Some caricaturists strive to insult their subjects; Drucker seems to flatter them by drawing them in “their entirety.” Mort’s drawings appear to capture the essence of a person. And his realism seems other-wordly.

Check out the expressive hands in this drawing!

What is the takeaway for all of us who love to draw? Well it’s simple: back to the drawing board. There are no short cuts if you want to draw well. Observation, trial and error —repeat!

I wish it were easier. Anyone who draws knows how exhausting (and humbling) the process can be.

The best feeling? When you know you are drawing something today that was not possible for you just a few months ago!

Finding your Tribe

“Don’t find yourself in the wrong place and get angry if you are not valued.”

The picture above probably says it all but let me explain what I mean. When I draw caricatures at events, sometimes I meet people who have little to no respect for my talent and ability. They do not like to draw and they do not appreciate what I can do.

At first I may feel some rejection, but then I think about it and remain grateful for my passion and ability. What I do is not for them but it is for me. It is something I love to do and I am grateful that i can make a living doing it.

And if that realization weren’t enough, sometimes I meet what Anne of Green Gables calls “kindred spirits.” These are the people I can really connect with. They may not be caricaturists but they love to draw and they know about the challenges of depicting someone’s likeness on paper or a canvas. In short, they are my tribe! They are the ones that understand me and encourage me to go on.

Do I need followers and fans? Not really. I just need to do the work I love to do. Still, it’s wonderful to know that there are others on the planet who share my passion and goals.

Here is a wonderful story about finding out who values you.

The ideal work schedule

Note: the main idea in this blog comes from a chapter in Hugh Macleod’s book, Ignore Everybody: And 39 Other keys to Creativity and from my experience as a full time artist. The chapter is entitled “Keep your day job.” In this chapter Macleod discusses the “sex and cash” theory. Let me tell you about it.

Many artists resent doing alternate work in order to be able to pursue their passion. Without a side job of some kind, however, artists are often unable to earn enough to live on.

Macleod contends that even professionals at the top of their game still have to do work that they dislike or at least tolerate (cash) in order to free themselves to do work they absolutely relish (sex).

Macleod states that, for some reason, this is always the case — whether you are an unknown or a mega-successful celebrity. He cautions against quitting your full time job just to follow your blissful dream. You may be doomed before you start.

My experience supports Macleod’s theory. I worked as a high school teacher for 26 years. The plan was to retire from teaching once I turned 55 so that I could pursue my dream of cartooning full time. For two years before retiring, I worked on my art at night and on weekends. When I finally left teaching I was ecstatic about the extra time I could finally devote to my craft but I was in for a disturbing surprise.

All sorts of distractions came into my life. Cooking, television shows, walking the dog, meeting friends for coffee —on and on it went. When I taught full time I had no way to get involved in these things, but when my schedule allowed it I found them impossible to resist.

Consequently, the increased productivity and fast-tracked progress my new schedule “promised” never quite materialized. Further, when I looked at the quality of work I was doing while still teaching, I found that it was as high or higher than the work I was producing while free to pursue art full time!

What the heck was going on? When I had less time to spend on my art I would do more of it and it would be of higher quality. Really?

And what of the sex and cash theory? Thanks to a modest teaching pension, I am a full time artist now, but I take on some projects mostly for the income so that I can pursue other projects that I have a passion for.

Bottom line: life seems to work this way. Be willing to do work you do not want to do so that you can do the work you do want to do. Period. And Macleod finishes the chapter with this promise:

“As soon as you accept this, I man really accept this, for some reason your career starts moving ahead faster.” (pg. 32)

What I look for when drawing caricatures

Note: The main ideas presented here come from a book by Tom Richmond called the Mad Art of Caricature and from my experience as a full-time caricaturist. Richmond’s work may be the definitive book on the subject of caricatures. I highly recommend it.

Often while I am drawing caricatures at an event, one of my subjects will stop and ask me what it is that I look for, primarily, in order to move forward with the drawing. My answer is always the same. I look first at the shape of the head. Bar none, it is the most important consideration. Everyone has a mouth, eyes and a nose, but if these are placed inside the wrong head shape, the likeness of your subject will never emerge. (Ears are also important but they are not instrumental in creating the likeness…even for Prince Charles whose ears rival an elephant’s…)

Tom Richmond suggests there are 5 basic head shapes. A rectangle, a circle, a triangle, etc. and some versions of these. When you draw an individual, you do not necessarily draw the head shape first, but it has to be held clearly in your brain while you begin to fill the head with the other features. If you produce perfect renditions of the eyes, of the nose and of the mouth, the likeness will still elude you if the resulting head shape is incorrect.

A second reason the likeness may falter is that while the head shape is correct and the features are drawn well, their proximity to each other and to the head shape itself is incorrect. The head shape can be correct, the features can be perfect, but their relationship to each other is at fault.

Those of us who have worked on a portrait for hours and were thrilled that the likeness of our subject was emerging even beyond our expectation, were devastated to experience that, in the final hour, somehow the likeness just vanished. What happened? Insert expletive deleted here.

What happened is quite simple: the proximity of the features is suspect.

Experiment 1. Look at a number of people and just draw the shape of their heads very quickly. For the inside features just use dots for the eyes, lines for eyebrows, a line for the nose and a line for the mouth. If the features are in the exact proximity towards each other, and if the head shape is indeed correct you will notice that their likeness begins to emerge —even in a simple drawing as that!

Experiment 2. Take photocopies of successful caricatures and cut them up so that the features are all single pieces. On a blank piece of paper, assemble the features together, trying to create the original caricature. As you move the features closer to each other, and then further apart, notice when the likeness emerges and then disappears again. Try this with several faces and you will begin to see how likenesses are found and lost!

The differences between us are quite subtle, really. Caricaturists pounce on distinctive noses, eyes, lips or eyebrows and use them as anchors for the rest of the likeness to emerge but the ultimate determiner is the head shape itself.

My suggestion to budding caricaturists: by all mean practice noses, eyes, lips, eyebrows, ears, etc. so that you excel at each feature. But do not neglect head shapes! Think of the features in someone’s face as orphans who need a home. And home is where the head shape is……..

P.S. Ever wonder why members of one race might be heard to say that individuals belonging to another race all seem to look alike? This is because they are not used to seeing the subtleties in the faces of another race. They have not spent time studying the proximity between the features common to the other race.

Am I a true artist?

Many artists struggle with a deep insecurity about their work and find it hard to see themselves as genuine creatives. They struggle with the “impostor syndrome” —the feeling that they are pretending to be artists and will soon be found out as the fakes they really are. Are they genuine artists or are they lying to themselves? My answer is to not bother with the question. It is a trap.

If you let it, the world will happily define an artist as someone who is gifted with an “extra-terrestrial” ability to produce art of the highest order at all times. The artist is a gifted individual that has a special calling to bless the world with his work. In this scenario, a few individuals are “called” and the rest of us are wannabes or weekend warriors. In other words, artists are special people and the rest of us are excluded from this prestigious club.

But what is the true evidence that you are a creative person? Some characteristics will tell the tale. For instance, for whatever reason, you have discovered a passion and inspiration for a kind of work and you can’t get enough of it. You just love it. The work brings you personal satisfaction and delight and to not do it leads to grumpiness and even illness. You have to do it, even if others don’t appreciate it and you don’t make any money!

Not to be too glib, but I believe that if you breathe oxygen you can call yourself a creative person and an artist. The notion that creatives are people that create specific things and only those things is insane. A quick look around us tells us that our planet is humming with activity at all times. Human beings do not, by and large, sit idle during the day. All of them are up to something. All of them appear to enjoy creating something. Whether it’s cooking a souffle, building a deck, tending a garden, making wine, knitting a scarf, etc. —all creative acts can be considered art.

Actually, you could even call evil and negative acts of creation a kind of art. Those who scheme and commit crimes, those who swindle on a spectacular scale, those attempting to stoke fires and start wars, etc. —they too are imagining and creating, albeit with horrible consequences. And since human beings are creating something most of the time, you have to conclude two things: a) that creating is as natural as breathing and b) that all human beings, therefore, can be called artists.

I find it freeing to see people in this light. The huge weight on the shoulders of the artist who believes herself to be unique and special gives way to the truth that we are indeed special…just like everyone else. Try it. See our planet as a buzzing, frenetic hive of creative activity. Everyone’s an artist, baby, and so are you!

P.S. I remember how my mother made bread, and how my father pruned an apple tree. Were they Michelangelos in their own field? Absolutely!

Welcome to my site!

Howdy folks:

Thank you for visiting my web site. This page features my blogs on a number of topics. I will often talk about my experiences with cartooning and what I have learned about the creative process in the past few years, but I will also look at personal lessons I have learned that have more to do with life in general. Hope you find it interesting. Thank you in advance for your feedback! Marzio