My Story continued...
In my own words. I began painting with deliberate intent when I was 20. My life up until that point was that of your typical small town Midwestern kid; work all summer, play football in the fall, wrestle all winter. I grew up in a hard working and loving family. My culture was defined by its work ethic and connection to the land and lakes that defined my home environment.
I was a mediocre student growing up. More interested in being out-of-doors and less in the idea that school would somehow lead to a career. When I was young my mind was settled without conflict on the idea that I would graduate high school, get a job, and work hard at that job until I retired. This time in my life was defined by family struggles, work, and the social microcosm of my home town. My understanding of the outside world was delivered by t.v., newspapers, and music. I had little experiential knowledge outside of my home culture. Life was in some ways a struggle but somehow my lack of understanding that there were alternatives buffered me; I simply took life at face value and that was good enough at that time.
Upon graduating high school my aspirations, and those of my teachers and mentors, was to attend a technical school, get a job, and define life from there. I did just that and after two years of technical college in Wahpeton, North Dakota I found myself accepting a job at, of all places, a coal mine in Wyoming. My degree was in Civil Engineering Technology and so I set out to work in the engineering department of the second largest open-pit coal mine in the world. I did this simply because it was a good job with good pay and that made sense at the time.
Life in the coal mine was interesting. I worked primarily with Vietnam veterans, former ranchers, and all around hard working and hard living people; mostly men. This was fine at first. I drove a Humm V around doing design work,
calculating volumes, and actually learning a great deal about applied mathematics. Something about this time was subtly nurturing, validating even. I worked hard, I was learning, and I was perhaps, unbeknownst to me, creative.
You see, despite the stereotype that may go along with coal mining and blue collar work, this time found me often in the company of scientists and mechanical engineers who used the microcosm of the coal mine to test the latest and greatest GPS technology and seismography equipment. I was fortunate to not just play escort to these very interesting people (because I was the one with the Humm V), but to actually help them problem solve and use their instruments in new and innovative ways. Slowly I became aware that, perhaps I wasn't just a grunt. I was actually helping these guys. Often times contributing in ways they hadn't thought of. This began challenging my perspectives. What was this knew sense of understanding? I wasn't sure yet. The voice within me that I had certainly developed as a child told me otherwise. But here I was, among highly accomplished people...contributing.
I slowly worked through my timidity and enrolled in some classes at the local community college. Suddenly, concepts and ideas that had eluded me in my adolescent years started sinking in. I wasn't avoiding or fearful as I often was growing up. I was engaged and hungry. I began going to the local public library and checking out random books. Einstein's theories, brain anatomy, famous artists...nothing was off limits. Although I was a dabbler, a browser in this new world, I was hooked. Like a blindfold had been removed, I started to believe in something bigger than myself.
While usually looked at negatively, my naiveté was an important tool during this time. In some ways, because I was so out-of-touch with the limitations of the world (social classes, economics, etc.) I was free to believe. I began painting. I remember specifically painting a couple ridiculous landscapes and quickly realizing that wasn't for me. A particular image by Modigliani stuck with me and gave way to something unique. A woman, mostly based on Modigliani's style, who was emerging out of a flower and missing her mid-section. It was uncomfortable, beautiful, and although amateurish to the knowing eye, it was something. And this something made me believe... (it wasn't until some years later I came to understand this painting as a reflection of myself during that time; growing and painful and always feeling like something was missing.)
I should say that during this period there were many aspects of my identity developing at the same time. Not always in the same directions. I was deeply lonely and my closest friends, besides my thoughts, became movies, alcohol, spirituality, and a small group of friends I'm embarrassed to say became known as "The Boys Club," by frequenters of the local bars. I was figuring things out in the only way I knew how, by stepping forward and allowing the consequences to inform my understanding. Not always the best way to learn but certainly informative.
This process, however haphazard it may have been, slowly pealed back the layers of doubt and defense I had built up over the years. I began volunteering at a local hospital with a physical therapist. At the time I didn't know why exactly, but later learned that I was fulfilling a need to work more closely with people; to connect in a more meaningful way. This began a search for something new. I didn't know it yet but I was about to embark on a journey that is still playing out today.
As timing would have it a benefit of my job at the coal mine was having the latest in computer technology. It
was 1998 and the internet was getting to be a big thing. This was pre-Google dynasty and so I found myself asking "Jeeves" all sorts of things. If I had a question I simply typed it in and followed the links. Logic, or at least the logic we're taught in this society, told me at this time that I couldn't just be an artist, so I began my search for a new career. One where I could help people and continue to explore what at that time was simply a desire to paint.
It was May 1999 when I finally got up the courage to challenge everything I had ever been taught. I quit my job, moved home for a few months, then went back to college. My plan was to get a degree in School Psychology. This would allow me to spend my winters working with kids who needed support in the school system and my summers painting. It seemed nice and clean and easy. Not so says the real world. But I was in for a great journey nonetheless, and in some ways that's where my story really begins.
Fall 1999 was interesting. I was uber dedicated to compensating for all the academic missteps I had taken growing up, but also was for the first time exposed to what college was all about; binge drinking and parties. I moved into a house the college kids called "The Whiskey Wednesday House," aptly named for the parties where they provided plastic bottles of Black Velvet and Coke on, you guessed it, Wednesday nights. Not sure I gave this one much thought, but I was introduced to the guys from Linton North Dakota by a close friend of mine. They seemed nice enough and the campus was a short five minute walk away. And so my college career, or at least my second one, began via a good old American tradition; work hard and play harder.
My first semester of college entailed completing all the generals I was not exposed to in tech. school or community college. Against my advisors advising I took 20 credits to get them all out of the way. By the end of that first semester I was convinced this was the place for me. Despite the exploits with my Whiskey Wednesday compatriots I managed a pretty stellar performance that first semester. My eyes were open and I dove in head first. Toward the end of this semester I had, without knowing it, begun connecting with a wide variety of people. I think not deliberately, but simply out of excitement and
curiosity. This led me to something that, like my new-found zest for learning and experience, I never thought I would do; I enrolled in a program that would take me to Oxford, England for the following semester, followed by a whirlwind trip around Europe.
I am not ashamed to admit now that all these things, as mundane or ordinary as they may seem to those who grew up with these expectations, were so exciting and so outside the box for me. And I have to say that everything since then has been nothing but a great surprise. A great surprise with many hills and valleys, blood, sweat and tears, but a wonderful gift nonetheless.
I think going to Europe was everything I needed at that time. My time in Oxford was like putting fertilizer on the brain. I was exposed to a new kind of scholar there. While people back home, including myself, were so pre-occupied with the American dream (mostly doing anything necessary to feel good), these people were driven by something far beyond themselves. Being around them provided a new frame-of-reference. And this new perspective came in the context of a non-stop supply of art, history, and unfamiliar culture. Not to mention that my American friends who were along for the ride were a sort of people I had never been exposed to. We spent our quiet times writing poetry, drinking wine, and talking about the meaning of life. Fertilizer for the soul.
I came home from Europe with a new attitude. I was far from straightened out and had many tough lessons to learn. But my understanding of what was possible in life had changed. I now had a pathway and no matter how hard my history or emotions or limitations tried to get in the way, I understood that if I made a choice to keep putting one foot in front of the other the byproducts were limitless. I have taken this approach ever since.
The years turned into grad. school, and a doctorate in Psychology, and many, many experiences with many, many interesting people. I shattered my expectations, limitations, and all the stereotypes along the way. All the while I kept coming back to the canvas. And the painting, rather than a discipline based on teaching and theory, became a tool of sorts; an extension of my life experience, a process and approach to expression. In this way everything I know about art I learned outside the classroom. All the while learning to somehow translate all those experiences into something visual, something meaningful, something beyond intellect and language and definitions.
Over the years art has become a means to connect, educate and form relationships. Art is a bridge to the community. It is the greatest expression of freedom and perhaps one of the greatest modes of change afforded by the human experience.
Thanks for taking the time to read my story. Keep in touch.
Mark Jesinoski
I was a mediocre student growing up. More interested in being out-of-doors and less in the idea that school would somehow lead to a career. When I was young my mind was settled without conflict on the idea that I would graduate high school, get a job, and work hard at that job until I retired. This time in my life was defined by family struggles, work, and the social microcosm of my home town. My understanding of the outside world was delivered by t.v., newspapers, and music. I had little experiential knowledge outside of my home culture. Life was in some ways a struggle but somehow my lack of understanding that there were alternatives buffered me; I simply took life at face value and that was good enough at that time.
Upon graduating high school my aspirations, and those of my teachers and mentors, was to attend a technical school, get a job, and define life from there. I did just that and after two years of technical college in Wahpeton, North Dakota I found myself accepting a job at, of all places, a coal mine in Wyoming. My degree was in Civil Engineering Technology and so I set out to work in the engineering department of the second largest open-pit coal mine in the world. I did this simply because it was a good job with good pay and that made sense at the time.
Life in the coal mine was interesting. I worked primarily with Vietnam veterans, former ranchers, and all around hard working and hard living people; mostly men. This was fine at first. I drove a Humm V around doing design work,
calculating volumes, and actually learning a great deal about applied mathematics. Something about this time was subtly nurturing, validating even. I worked hard, I was learning, and I was perhaps, unbeknownst to me, creative.
You see, despite the stereotype that may go along with coal mining and blue collar work, this time found me often in the company of scientists and mechanical engineers who used the microcosm of the coal mine to test the latest and greatest GPS technology and seismography equipment. I was fortunate to not just play escort to these very interesting people (because I was the one with the Humm V), but to actually help them problem solve and use their instruments in new and innovative ways. Slowly I became aware that, perhaps I wasn't just a grunt. I was actually helping these guys. Often times contributing in ways they hadn't thought of. This began challenging my perspectives. What was this knew sense of understanding? I wasn't sure yet. The voice within me that I had certainly developed as a child told me otherwise. But here I was, among highly accomplished people...contributing.
I slowly worked through my timidity and enrolled in some classes at the local community college. Suddenly, concepts and ideas that had eluded me in my adolescent years started sinking in. I wasn't avoiding or fearful as I often was growing up. I was engaged and hungry. I began going to the local public library and checking out random books. Einstein's theories, brain anatomy, famous artists...nothing was off limits. Although I was a dabbler, a browser in this new world, I was hooked. Like a blindfold had been removed, I started to believe in something bigger than myself.
While usually looked at negatively, my naiveté was an important tool during this time. In some ways, because I was so out-of-touch with the limitations of the world (social classes, economics, etc.) I was free to believe. I began painting. I remember specifically painting a couple ridiculous landscapes and quickly realizing that wasn't for me. A particular image by Modigliani stuck with me and gave way to something unique. A woman, mostly based on Modigliani's style, who was emerging out of a flower and missing her mid-section. It was uncomfortable, beautiful, and although amateurish to the knowing eye, it was something. And this something made me believe... (it wasn't until some years later I came to understand this painting as a reflection of myself during that time; growing and painful and always feeling like something was missing.)
I should say that during this period there were many aspects of my identity developing at the same time. Not always in the same directions. I was deeply lonely and my closest friends, besides my thoughts, became movies, alcohol, spirituality, and a small group of friends I'm embarrassed to say became known as "The Boys Club," by frequenters of the local bars. I was figuring things out in the only way I knew how, by stepping forward and allowing the consequences to inform my understanding. Not always the best way to learn but certainly informative.
This process, however haphazard it may have been, slowly pealed back the layers of doubt and defense I had built up over the years. I began volunteering at a local hospital with a physical therapist. At the time I didn't know why exactly, but later learned that I was fulfilling a need to work more closely with people; to connect in a more meaningful way. This began a search for something new. I didn't know it yet but I was about to embark on a journey that is still playing out today.
As timing would have it a benefit of my job at the coal mine was having the latest in computer technology. It
was 1998 and the internet was getting to be a big thing. This was pre-Google dynasty and so I found myself asking "Jeeves" all sorts of things. If I had a question I simply typed it in and followed the links. Logic, or at least the logic we're taught in this society, told me at this time that I couldn't just be an artist, so I began my search for a new career. One where I could help people and continue to explore what at that time was simply a desire to paint.
It was May 1999 when I finally got up the courage to challenge everything I had ever been taught. I quit my job, moved home for a few months, then went back to college. My plan was to get a degree in School Psychology. This would allow me to spend my winters working with kids who needed support in the school system and my summers painting. It seemed nice and clean and easy. Not so says the real world. But I was in for a great journey nonetheless, and in some ways that's where my story really begins.
Fall 1999 was interesting. I was uber dedicated to compensating for all the academic missteps I had taken growing up, but also was for the first time exposed to what college was all about; binge drinking and parties. I moved into a house the college kids called "The Whiskey Wednesday House," aptly named for the parties where they provided plastic bottles of Black Velvet and Coke on, you guessed it, Wednesday nights. Not sure I gave this one much thought, but I was introduced to the guys from Linton North Dakota by a close friend of mine. They seemed nice enough and the campus was a short five minute walk away. And so my college career, or at least my second one, began via a good old American tradition; work hard and play harder.
My first semester of college entailed completing all the generals I was not exposed to in tech. school or community college. Against my advisors advising I took 20 credits to get them all out of the way. By the end of that first semester I was convinced this was the place for me. Despite the exploits with my Whiskey Wednesday compatriots I managed a pretty stellar performance that first semester. My eyes were open and I dove in head first. Toward the end of this semester I had, without knowing it, begun connecting with a wide variety of people. I think not deliberately, but simply out of excitement and
curiosity. This led me to something that, like my new-found zest for learning and experience, I never thought I would do; I enrolled in a program that would take me to Oxford, England for the following semester, followed by a whirlwind trip around Europe.
I am not ashamed to admit now that all these things, as mundane or ordinary as they may seem to those who grew up with these expectations, were so exciting and so outside the box for me. And I have to say that everything since then has been nothing but a great surprise. A great surprise with many hills and valleys, blood, sweat and tears, but a wonderful gift nonetheless.
I think going to Europe was everything I needed at that time. My time in Oxford was like putting fertilizer on the brain. I was exposed to a new kind of scholar there. While people back home, including myself, were so pre-occupied with the American dream (mostly doing anything necessary to feel good), these people were driven by something far beyond themselves. Being around them provided a new frame-of-reference. And this new perspective came in the context of a non-stop supply of art, history, and unfamiliar culture. Not to mention that my American friends who were along for the ride were a sort of people I had never been exposed to. We spent our quiet times writing poetry, drinking wine, and talking about the meaning of life. Fertilizer for the soul.
I came home from Europe with a new attitude. I was far from straightened out and had many tough lessons to learn. But my understanding of what was possible in life had changed. I now had a pathway and no matter how hard my history or emotions or limitations tried to get in the way, I understood that if I made a choice to keep putting one foot in front of the other the byproducts were limitless. I have taken this approach ever since.
The years turned into grad. school, and a doctorate in Psychology, and many, many experiences with many, many interesting people. I shattered my expectations, limitations, and all the stereotypes along the way. All the while I kept coming back to the canvas. And the painting, rather than a discipline based on teaching and theory, became a tool of sorts; an extension of my life experience, a process and approach to expression. In this way everything I know about art I learned outside the classroom. All the while learning to somehow translate all those experiences into something visual, something meaningful, something beyond intellect and language and definitions.
Over the years art has become a means to connect, educate and form relationships. Art is a bridge to the community. It is the greatest expression of freedom and perhaps one of the greatest modes of change afforded by the human experience.
Thanks for taking the time to read my story. Keep in touch.
Mark Jesinoski
