We’ve read The Artsy Smartsy Club to our kid twice: once when she was two, for our own amusement, and once when she was five or six, for our shared amusement. The other day at school, she pointed out to me that one of her classmates had written his name on his coat book label three times. “Daniel Daniel Daniel! Isn’t it funny that he did that?” she said to me, and then, as a sort of aside to herself, I heard her mutter “Davis Davisdavis.” If she ever tries to spend a spectacular amount of money on an MFA, I plan to point out to her that she’s already read The Artsy Smartsy Club twice and is welcome to review our copy any time she likes for a reasonable fee.
You can add that I found out (too late) that one cannot learn Art in an academic setting, and a degree in Fine Art is ridiculous. An informed student will major in History, even Art History, or Accountancy, or Advanced Auto Mechanics, and do art at home, alone, with others, in France or New York City, but never where grades are given.
