Your ducks aren’t good enough.
This is how I got into University…
Pre-blurb. If someone told you that you can’t do what you want to do, or if you weren’t sure what to do next. This is a short story of when that was me…
Somewhere in the late 90’s London suburbs (think Motherland on Netflix) I looked out at the park through the window, paint peeling, a plane flying to somewhere exciting. I had small badges from bands on my canvas school bag, for some unknown reason my wallet was attached to my jeans by a chain, about as cool as the sink plug it probably looked like.
For some reason, I’d decided not to go with GCSE Art, the years went by in that endless way that they do as a kid, and then it was time for the next subject choice, A levels. Well, by now I knew I wanted to do Art (I’ve just overthought saying the word Art, weird isn’t it. Just me? Ok..) as one of my subjects. So I went to talk to the department head, who I didn’t like much (from pre-GCSE) to ask nicely.
I was told to return with a small portfolio demonstrating I could work to a certain standard in different mediums, mainly pencil and charcoal. Fair enough, I already did a lot of drawing, when I was supposed to be doing other lessons, as did a few of my friends. I also drew a lot for one of my other choices, Design and Technology. I remember taking my portfolio in one lunch break and leaving it for assessment.
“Your ducks aren’t good enough”, I was confused. I’d gone to find out my fate to be greeted with the weirdest thing I’d heard all day. “They show you’re missing the key skills and understanding to take Art”. Look, I’m no ornithologist, but those ducks were some of my best shading and line work I’d ever done, I would even go as far as saying I was proud of them. I didn’t really know what to say to the teacher as they shot each one of my ducks down, along with my other work. I would not be studying art for A-level. Shit.
I’m pretty sure she didn’t like me, the other Art teacher said a few words of sympathy which didn’t really register, I was gutted. Art was the route I wanted to take at University and this just put a big spanner in. I had no clue what I was going to do when I left school.
Over my A-level years I continued to draw and paint, often hanging out with friends who were studying art and occasionally getting kicked out of art lessons my friends had. Inspired by the likes of Banksy, I even started doing lots of sprayed stencilling, mostly on canvas but occasionally elsewhere. One rat holding a paintbrush on the utility room cupboard appeared, despite getting into trouble for it, there it stayed for nearly a year. My next would not work out so well.
I’d spent ages cutting it out - a giant cutting mat and scalpel on my bedroom floor, ., a portrait of George Bush, with “Wanted” written underneath it (it was at the time of the Iraq war, I guess when the whole actually where are these WMD’s question was being asked. To be honest I was more excited about doing the stencil than I was about making a political statement, I wasn’t even sure if people would recognise the face.
Near where I lived there was a railway bridge that was constantly being graffiti’d then painted over. So one night, I put on a pair of black jeans, a new black Mountain Equipment Goretex jacket (I’d got a weekend job at Cotswold Outdoor), probably listened to some Linkin Park, (Hybrid Theory album obvs) and put the stencil and white spray tin in my canvas messenger bag.
First problem. It was quite a busy road, it was straight though so I had a bit of warning to hide. Several times I would have to quickly run to a bench nearby and pretend to be on my phone.
Second problem, the masking tape I’d brought to hold the stencil onto the wall wasn’t sticking. Ffs. I was starting to loose my nerve. Another car zooms past, the stencil has a wrinkle in it and I feel like if I stay much longer I’m going to get caught by someone.
The quiet(ish) streetlight yellow glow returned and I rushed over to the bridge, held up the stencil, got the spray paint out and… ppsssfffffspppss. You have got to be kidding me.
The paint had spat out blobs everywhere, on the wall, the stencil and all over my brand new black ME jacket. Mainly on the jacket. In all the excitement I’d completely forgotten to shake the can. With only a spattering of paint on the bridge in no recognisable shape I called it a night, gutted about the jacket and feeling a bit of a turnip. I rolled the jacket up in my bag, binned the stencil and walked home. Linkin Park to the rescue.
My short career as a street artist had failed before it had started. But I couldn’t shake the art teacher saying no from my mind.
The end of A levels was in sight and it was time to apply to university. It didn’t take me long to realise that I wanted to do a foundation art course. Recommended by the nice art teacher, it felt like the next stepping stone to somewhere. I had no idea what I was going to do as a career, the not knowing was quite daunting, but I kept thinking about the next step. Because I’d not studied Art for GCSE or A-Level, I was unable to use the normal UCAS system all my friends were. I needed to apply direct, so that’s what I did… by now I was really in the mood to throw a big Duck You at the head of the art department and determined to get a place.
As luck would have it, one of my best friends had just finished Foundation Art at Central Saint Martins. I told him all about my plans and he said he would help guide me with my portfolio for each application. Everyone needs a friend like Killian (a talented artist and graphic designer aka Killer Designs). Patiently he went through my portfolio several times, with his brutal honesty my haphazard portfolio was starting to look like it all fitted together.
With some parting words of encouragement, it was time for the final stage, group interviews. It was all a bit of a blur if I’m honest, I do remember a particularly cringe part where I talked about the “Kodak moment” for one of the photos in my portfolio.
After some tense days, I got a letter, my application to Central Saint Martins had been successful. I had a next step. Phhhheeeewwww. Cheers Killian, I still owe you!
Looking back maybe it was one of the basic lessons in the creative industry, not everyone will like what you do - and that’s ok. In fact, don’t try to please everyone on the planet, you’ll likely end up with something incredibly bland. Trust the idea, the process and make the film only you can make. Everyone can make porridge.
Guess those ducks were fine after all then.
🦆
