I anticipated Wednesday morning to be a relaxing departure from the monotony of academic routine. However, I was met with a challenge of a different sort entirely: I am rarely, if ever, confronted with my own severe artistic inability. I understand that the goal of the exercise was not to actually create a beautiful piece of art, but rather to garner a personal understanding of this type of art. However, this knowledge did not prevent me from growing frustrated with myself – because I so often neglect my artistic side (for good reason), I felt like a 3rd grader during arts and crafts.
As I left Root with a underwhelmingly illustrated “J” in my hand and good-humored self-deprecation in my mind, I realized that I had successfully completed the exercise. I succeeded not because I had drawn a block “J” adorned with some dinky leaves, not because I had managed to paint inside the lines, not because I had proven myself as a competent adult with average motor skills, but because I experienced firsthand how laborious the process of illuminating is. I cannot fathom the collective amount of time and energy artists of the past have spent poring over these historiated letters. It requires the sort of emotional investment that, while I myself do not share, ignites the passions of artists everywhere. It necessitates deep pride – or considerable fees – to fastidiously design and paint these complex pieces of art.
