I won't ever have any of my artwork highlighted in any 'art history' text of the future.  I never was that talented.  I enjoyed working with art media very much, to the point that--my senior year of high school--I set my classes up so I could paint all morning at the back of Mr. Anderson's artroom.  The best artist at my high school was Marc Elledge.  Marc had the artistic mindset and pursued the field with vigor.  He knew more about artists and eras than I.  His body of works put my own portfolio to shame.  

College was no different.  When I stood next to Kevin Waugh or Jerry Johnson and watched them create truly amazing artwork, it was beyond humbling.  I once saw a guy trying to throw his painting out of the window of the art class, he was so dismayed with how it was going, but the window wasn't cooperating...lucky for him.  Someone three stories below bought the work before the artist ruined it slamming into the windowsill.  I can count the number of works I sold in high school and college on one hand (though I did give away a lot of 'requested work' and thousands of caricatures).

So, since I was just a mediocre artist by practice, how did I win a lot of scholarships?  I've come to the realization it probably was not because of my artistic merit as much as other aspects of my personality.  I was trust-worthy, extremely hard-working, punctual, never leaving classes early, sold out to what my teachers said, and, well, a 'nerd.'  To emphasize that point...

...one year, after I had long left my college studies behind me, one of my fellow art teachers and I were sitting with some of our former college instructors at an art gathering.  The former teachers said to this fellow art teacher, "Hey, Boy Scout, go get us some coffee."  He immediately got up to comply.  As soon as he was out of earshot, I asked my former college advisor--sitting in the group--"If HE is a 'Boy Scout,' what in the world did you call ME?"  He immediately said, with a chorus of the former teachers chiming in, "The ORIGINAL Boy Scout."  I had to laugh about that.  'Being a good boy' probably got me breaks I didn't deserve on artistic talent alone.

I know that the head of the art program at my alma-mater felt I was a lot more talented than I saw with my own eyes.  He told me, several times, that I was a really great artist but I didn't try to reach my potential...I was too busy working in the School of Education, concentrating on 'how to teach' instead of 'how to do GREAT art.'  I never forgot that statement.  It made me realize I wanted to be a great 'teacher,' not just continue extending my adventures with art media as an 'artist.'  I didn't 'do' my students artwork for them, but I was heavily involved in suggestions...thanks to George Calvert.

I didn't realize Mr. Calvert was such a well-known artist when I was fortunate enough to be in his classes.  Every fellow student warned me that I had made a mistake taking 'Calvert' for more than one class in a single semester.  I wanted to be taught by the best and the most-demanding so I was better prepared to be a teacher when students would depend on what I could bring to their table.  Mr. Calvert worked himself into a fever when he did painting demonstrations for my classmates and myself.  He's literally have sweat dripping from his forehead he'd be so 'into' his work.  Most of us weren't crazy about abstraction, but I noted that Mr. Calvert was constantly thinking about EVERY brushstroke he made, how to obtain an effect he wanted, and self-critiquing his work to better its outcome.  I had a lot of great teachers, as I documented all over this website, but none ran class quite like Mr. Calvert.  He'd finish his demonstration, say, "Now, get to work!" and plop down in this oversized, well-worn, fluffy chair in the front of the painting studio.  He'd silently smoke.  No one dared say anything to Mr. Calvert because there was nooooooooooooo doubt he was in charge and was really, REALLY good at letting you know if you overstepped the boundary.  Someone would eventually open a window to let the billowing smoke pollute the outside air and Mr. Calvert would GLOWER at the student.  But, and this is KEY...he'd say NOTHING.  His eyes and demeanor said it all for us.

When I'd take my work up to him, he'd puff away and look at the work silently, often for long periods of time.  He'd finally speak, and I hinged on every word he spoke, believe you me!  Mr. Calvert might say, "What are you planning on doing with that pink corner up there?" Well, honestly, I hadn't planned on doing anything with that corner!  So, he had challenged me to see how to better the work and I was expected to immediately tell him how I could improve the painting.  I would make my suggestion and waited for more words.

I saved EVERY one of the paintings I made in Mr. Calvert's class and kept them until I moved to Florida and had to leave them behind (for lack of room in the moving van) for anyone wanting the canvas creations.  Why did I save them all?  Because Mr. Calvert had that unique quality of making his students believe in themselves.  We left feeling our works were really good, probably because we had done our best to please Mr. Calvert and, in so doing, DID make our works more complete.   I NEVER forgot that trait he had and I wanted to be able to do that as a teacher myself someday.

So, when I became a teacher, I rarely demonstrated how to make a 'work.'  I showed techniques.  I lived vicariously through my students' work, all but abandoning my own opportunities to grow as an artist.  That was fine with me because I wanted to be remembered as a good teacher, not a good artist.  If there was one skill I had that I might speak of without seeming like I am being boastful, it was that I was able to teach like Mr. Calvert.  I was able to look at works my students were laboring on and immediately sense what they needed 'to do with that pink area' to make the work more cohesive, dramatic, or appealing.  Mr. Calvert has passed away but his influence, on me, never died when I taught.  

I wouldn't wish a stroke on my worst enemy.  When I was afflicted in 2009, my knees buckled and everything I knew as 'normal' was gone in a split second.  Now that I'm retired, I wish I could paint.  But, alas, what once was a skill or a challenge has become a wall I cannot scale.  Bad eyesight, weak arms, and a lack of communication between my brain and hands has all but taken away my ability to do artwork.

What will the legacy of Darrell Schultz be after he dies?  I can only hope it will be somewhat like what I see for Mr. Calvert and other teachers who paved the way for me...an abiding respect and grateful hearts from some of the students I was lucky to work with for so many years.  I hope my family can love me and forgive me for any shortcomings I had that hurt marriage or individual.  But, most of all, I want God to look at me and see His Son's blood on me and say, "Welcome, thou good and faithful servant."  That's more than enough for me...