The Life Lessons I Never Expected to Carry from Art School

With the neighborhood kids heading back to school, I find myself thinking about my own time at the Corcoran School of Art. It’s funny how much was given to me back then—ideas, experiences, lessons I was too young to fully understand. Only now, years later, do they come into focus.

Senior Thesis show invitation

One moment in particular has stuck with me all these years. It was junior year, and I was in the middle of a good run. Our core class was working from the figure, charcoal on big sheets of newsprint. I was filling my studio walls with drawings and had even started painting small studies from them. It felt like I was finally getting somewhere.

Red Room Series #1 by Don Ripper 1992,  Oil and wax on canvas 60” x 75”

That’s when Tom Green walked in.

If you were at the Corcoran, you knew Tom. He was the handsome, leather-jacket-wearing, motorcycle-riding, larger-than-life professor. I personally saw him drive his bike right up the student entrance stairs off New York Avenue. He was beloved, and rightly so.

Artist Tom Green in his home studio on November, 3 2011 in Cabin John, Md. (Jonathan Newton/The Washington Post)

That day he hung around my studio for a few minutes, looking at the work, chatting casually. Finally, he said:
“It seems like you’ve got this figured out.”

I thought, Great—high praise at the Corcoran is rare. But then, as he turned to leave, he added:
“Why don’t you try it left-handed next time?”

That was it. No explanation. No follow-up. Just that.

“In Green” By Tom Green 2004 Acrylic on canvas  65” x 77”; Courtesy Addison/Ripley Fine Art

Tom passed away in September of 2012 far too young from Lou Gehrig’s disease, I often wish I could ask him what he meant. At the time, I took it as a push: Sure, you can do this—but are you really stretching yourself? That thought shaped how I’ve worked ever since. Even now, I push every piece to the point of exhaustion. In his obituary, The Washington Post quoted Tom as saying:

“It’s easy, basically, to start a painting. To know when to stop is infinitely harder. You’ve got to decide: Is this complete? Does it have everything that I wanted from it?”

I feel those words deeply. To finish a painting is in reality a gift to yourself. 

Corpus, by Tom Green 1994 Courtesy of David Richard Gallery

Looking back with adult eyes, I think Tom’s challenge was deeper. He wasn’t really asking me to draw with my left hand. He was asking me to take risks, to allow vulnerability into my art. Realism and draftsmanship were my comfort zone then. I equated talent with the ability to render accurately. But Tom was nudging me toward something bigger: the idea that technical skill alone won’t make you a great artist. Finding your voice, and being willing to risk failure—that’s the path.

Maybe, just maybe, the left hand reveals something the right never could.

SEE ALSO:  So Your Kid Wants to Be an Artist