Dr. Carolyn Lee reflects on a different cliché each week. Recently, in her blog “Lost and Found,” she considers the joy of finding what has been lost. This week Carolyn explores the cliché, it’s harder than it looks.
Learn more about Dr. Carolyn Lee on her biography page or investigate 29 more clichés in her latest book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By.
It’s Harder than It Looks
I have a friend who is an interior designer. I doubt that many people think of interior design as particularly “hard” or labor-intensive. I imagine there are those who think of it, if they think of it at all, as the business of choosing pretty paint colors and determining which of several lovely fabrics would look best on a client’s chaise lounge. But I have watched a designer at work—hard work. Decisions must be made about every light fixture, door handle, drawer knob, electrical outlet, stair tread, curtain rod, counter surface, and wallpaper pattern. Not only must these items be chosen; they must be specified on a document that lists the needs, objectives, constraints, features, deadlines, and budget estimates as accurately as possible. Then, of course, there are countless visits to showrooms and the shops of carpenters, upholsterers, electricians, installers, furniture fabricators and art galleries. There are hours spent at the computer designing floor plans and elevations; there are meetings with clients, architects, and product representatives. Yes, interior designing is much harder than it appears to the casual observer.
I have been associated with many theater productions. On opening night, when Singin’ in the Rain dazzles the audience, when real, honest-to-goodness water pours down on the umbrella of Don Lockwood as he splashes his way across the stage, I think, “These people have no idea what it took to make that happen.” When Dolly Levi descends that staircase in her red gown and feathered headdress, and all the waiters, in synch and in harmony, deliver “It’s so nice to have you back where you belong,” it’s just as well that the audience doesn’t know how many rehearsals were required to bring that off. And when the audience gets a collective lump in their throats when the Captain and Maria dance the “Laendler” in The Sound of Music, I know—but the spectators don’t—how hard those two people worked to create just the right effect. In all of these cases, a lot of hard work made the final product look easy. But it wasn’t.
As an art major in college, I learned the hard way that the field of study I had chosen was not going to be easy. I had never taken a class in drawing; I had never attempted a watercolor painting. Making jewelry was not something for which I had a natural aptitude. I did have some talent for calligraphy, but I didn’t know a thing about the proper posture or pen-holding techniques. I had never heard of Spencerian or Copperplate styles. I took my class assignments seriously, and they were hard. In spite of the fact that I sometimes struggled to achieve the results I was after, I persuaded my roommate, who was an English major, to take the watercolor course. She made a D. It turned out to be the only D on her transcript. That was sixty years ago, and she still holds it against me.
After the birth of my nephew’s baby boy, he and his wife asked me to paint a mural on their nursery wall. I created a very simple drawing featuring the sun coming up over a green hill, a red barn and lots of farm animals—cows and sheep and chickens and a little red fox. When it was finished, and neighbors came to have a look, they thought it was very cute, and they applauded me for my contribution to the décor, but they had no idea how those images wound up on that wall. There were the initial drawings, the experimenting with colors, the working out of dimensions. I made paper patterns of every animal so I could tape them to the wall before I committed to the final layout. Then there was the drawing and the painting—which required climbing on a ladder, getting down on my hands and knees, laying out the various colors, applying the paint with a brush and the outlining with a broad-tipped felt pen. By the end of the third day, I could paint for a while; then I had to stick my hand in a bag of ice for a few minutes. I knew I had done something hard. The neighbors didn’t.
People sometimes think that students who major in art or design are taking the easy route. The sciences are hard; mathematics and economics and data analysis are challenging, but drawing and design and theater and creative writing are the “soft” courses, the easy A’s. The student in set design who’s up until 2:00 in the morning putting the finishing touches on her balsa wood model for A Midsummer Night’s Dream would disagree. The budding writer struggling through his sixth draft of the final assignment for “Story and Superstructure” thinks otherwise.
Stephen Sondheim’s song, “Putting It Together” from Sunday in the Park with George, chronicles “the art of making art.” I believe anyone listening to this number would, at least, have an appreciation for the complexity, the vocabulary, and the sophistication of Sondheim’s lyrics. In a 1992 biography of Sondheim, Joanne Gordon, argued against the common perception that the musical is mere escapist entertainment and acknowledged that Sondheim had accomplished something terribly difficult. For the title of her book, she chose a line from that “Putting It Together” number. Her book is called Art Isn’t Easy.
Want to Read More?
Check out Dr. Carolyn Lee’s blogs on her website, she features a new cliché each week or you can order her new book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. Want to know more about the woman behind the words? Read more about Carolyn here. We hope you enjoyed this article learning more about the cliché, it’s harder than it looks.
