By Yuhao Chen
Nearly as much as the average
person shrinks from the experience of being requested to complete an impossible
task, he will wallow in the pleasure of choosing not to engage when shown how
to do something in a step-by-step process. The popularity of the do-it-yourself
home improvement show, the home economics show, the cooking show, etc., is a
testament to the pleasure that must be derived from being very clearly shown
how to do something and having the freedom to choose not to do it. But are the
personalities on such shows aware of this? Would their awareness alter anything
in contemporary television? Would they care? Perhaps they depend on it; perhaps
they know of this; and yet, one must still occupy the role of a legitimate instructor
in order for the charade to work.
A favorite example comes in the
form of the beloved Bob Ross. Via his television program The Joy of Painting, which aired on PBS from 1983-1994, Bob Ross reached thousands, if not millions,
of viewers – supposedly as a private in-home painting instructor. Ross
primarily painted pastoral settings with specific seasonal themes. All of Ross’
scenes were created with the same ‘wet-on-wet’ painting technique, the same
collection of brushes, and various combinations of a set color scheme. Over the
course of the show, Ross discussed the importance of nature, his genuine
happiness about being able to paint with everyone, and even invited the
occasional guest (albeit many of these were small animals like chipmunks or
baby squirrels). Viewers were eventually taken through various techniques for
depicting trees, clouds, snow, sunlight, etc., encouraging them to improvise
and take risks.
At this point, one must consider
the criteria for a legitimate painting instructor. For the show to function
with any legitimacy, Ross must be defined so. But it must also be considered if
Ross’ activities beyond the context of the show compile into an adequate form.
After a troubled career in the military, the gentle, nature-loving Ross decided
to dedicate his career to spreading the joy of painting by teaching others how
to appreciate this activity as much as himself. Although he did do some work as
a traditional, non-televised painting instructor, it was not until the
development of his long running PBS series that his talents were popularly
appreciated. Appreciated, though, for something other than his ability as an
artistic educator. As has been suggested, the show was primarily attractive for
its ability to provide the viewers the opportunity to participate in passive
observation. Most importantly, no one was actually learning.
When a teacher of any sort, a
master craftsman, chef, or artist, finds an apprentice or group of apprentices,
the activity of the craft metamorphoses into the activity of demonstration. The
objective is no longer towards personal innovation or for the benefit of any
audience. Now, the master’s objective is to produce something exemplary and
within the apprentice’s ability to reproduce. As soon as the apprentice is acknowledged
by the artist, the latter becomes a teacher. When the apprentice is no longer
present, the basis of the teacher’s identity is removed, and he is now a fraud
or has-been. This progression may seem harsh, but it is not a matter of
personal development or an assessment of the artist’s skill; instead, this
demotion is strictly a result of the human incapacity to define his meandering
lack of function as anything else. In the same way, the artist will continue to
be respected as such in every phase of his existence despite his humiliating
endgame status.
For the average watcher, The Joy
of Painting may be a joy to watch, but it is hardly a pedagogical experience.
Just as the average cooking show is observed from the couch and not the
counter, there is little reason to believe that many, if any, of Bob Ross’
viewers had any intention of actually setting up an easel, filling their
pallets, and preparing their brushes in order to follow along with his gradual
and encouraging instructions. At best, there might have been a lonely artist
among the PBS viewers, bereft of original techniques and helplessly without
personal inspiration, who might have privately tested some of the displayed
techniques at a later time, but even this is a far cry from apprenticeship.
Most likely, viewers are completely passive – watching along as Ross guises
them in a wadi of meaningless encouragement and whole-hearted absolutions for
technical errors that will never have any chance of being made.
Television, after all, is a mechanism
for pleasure. Pedagogy is something very different. Bob Ross was a joy to watch
because viewers are seduced by his soothing presence, entertained by the
effectively arbitrary painting displays, and addicted to the super-natural
phenomenon of receiving and neglecting instruction without the faintest sign of
consequence. Just as Ross fed nuts to baby squirrels while they patiently
perched on his shoulder and looked into the camera, the pleasure comes from a
certain part of the sequence and not the process as a whole. The Joy
of Painting was very successful. Its viewers were doing it right. Pleasant
experiences were produced and experienced in a regular cycle, and so there was
no reason to complain. There are certain points of the learning process that are
indeed pleasurable, but they do not come without others that can only be
described otherwise. No baby squirrel will conveniently wait on a shoulder to
be fed a nut before the prerequisite scratches, bites, and escapes have been
endured. Therefore, the viewers’ abbreviated pleasure circuit – though
appropriate for television – has no place in a legitimate pedagogical
experience. For the viewers to choose an
interpretation of The Joy of Painting is
undeniably a concession that must be made for personal discretion, But what
does this mean for the status of Bob Ross?
Consider a televised news
broadcast. Perhaps a politician will appear at some point; he may even speak;
he may even recognize the fact that he will eventually be broadcast on
television. The same might happen for a doctor, a random local resident, or
even an artist. But these personalities are not defined by the program that
they are included in. The news program is merely employing them in excerpted
form in order to represent a specific theme or topic, to support a more
significant constituent of the program itself. Ultimately, the doctor is still
a doctor, the politician a politician, etc. Simply being broadcast on
television does not, by itself, distinguish an entertainer. The matter has more
to do with a person’s function on television. One would like to think of Bob
Ross as a genuine artist. In all likelihood, that is how he thought of himself.
A native Floridian with a distinguished military career and scenic post in
Alaska doesn’t abandon the legacy of the last forty years of his life to spend
the final ten as a penniless painter in Indiana if not for true passion. And to
continue his life cycle as an artist, he became a master in search of
apprentices. But it is at this point in his development when something baffling
occurred. His ‘apprentices’ on the other side of the television set did appreciate him, but for pleasure and
not pedagogy. Therefore, the Bob Ross of PBS was no artist.
Throughout the course of his years
on television, Bob Ross completed 381 paintings. All of these paintings
depicted pastoral settings. Nearly all of them included at least one mountain,
primarily pine forests, a ‘warm’ sky, and evidence of recently passed ‘happy
little critters.’ Each painting occupied precisely 30 minutes from inception to
completion, and each one required a distinct set of painting skills – typically
displayed while painting “happy clouds,” “lonely trees,” etc. Also included in
Ross’ skill sets were other painterly techniques like brush cleaning, canvas
preparation, and discussions about palette preparation. Certainly, these were
not ventures of artistic passion. These were pedagogical tools. But if no one
was following their example, if there were never any true apprentices, was Bob
Ross any sort of a master? Did he skip straight to an artist has-been? Or did
he cease to be an artist?
Just as puzzling as the condition
of Bob Ross and his television show, are all do-it-yourself shows. Their
identity belies their function, and their function dismantles their identity,
and yet viewers from around the world love them. Not only is it possible to
ignore the contradiction and appreciate the remaining substance, but the
simultaneous existence of two incompatible experiences is a source of pleasure
on its own. If one would ever like to find the source of this pleasure, he
could simply attend a lesson. Imagine being told to attempt a specific
brush-stroke, to season a chicken breast, to remove all the nails from a
picture frame. Then imagine not doing it… Suddenly, one’s underarms begin to
perspire, and there is a hiccup in the heart. But then this jolt of anxiety is
met with an encouraging smile: the teacher moves on to the next step, and again
extends an invitation to follow along.