Living the Dream
Beloit alum and former cross country coach and track and field distance coach, Ellie Waddle ’17 wrote this profile of Professor Scott Espeseth for Professor Shawn Gillen’s Writing about Music, Sports, and Culture: Magazine Writing class this past spring.
It’s an unseasonably warm mid-March day in Wisconsin as I walk across the Beloit College campus to The Wright Museum of Art. Having taken a class in the glass-ceilinged art studio when I was a student, I prepared myself for a three-hour sauna.
The studio that Scott Espeseth, professor of art, teaches in is a reflection of the artist himself. Humble, quiet, impressive, and somehow, it has everything you might need. As a college kid who’d never taken an art class, I remember being just as intimidated by the cavernous space and pile of potential still life subjects as I was by the sharp-nosed, kind-eyed professor.
Credit: Howard Korn ’87
The room hasn’t changed at all since I was a senior taking Figuring Drawing in 2017. As I walked in to spend the afternoon observing him teach Introduction to Drawing and Design, a familiar wave of nervousness and excited anticipation washes over me. It’s as if I’m walking in with my latest assignment ready for critique. I settle in and it’s clear that at least in this room, life is business as usual. Scott smiles at me, and I get the same butterflies watching him teach again as I would watching him draw or paint.
Sara Delong ’15, says, “He could quickly tell how much work you put into a project versus B.S.” As a student who prided herself on the quality of the “B.S.” I could get away with, this is where Scott had earned my respect. I could tell that he cared about the work, and I wanted him to know that I cared, too.
Scott Espeseth grew up in Maryland. From a young age he was the “art kid.” Looking at him now, it’s easy to imagine him as a teenager. He still has that look, spiky, just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, like he wants to be in a band. He’s wearing jeans, but nice jeans, like he doesn’t take himself too seriously but wants you to know that what he does matters.
He attended a large science and technology magnet high school with an almost cartoonish cast of wacky teachers. He was in the band, but didn’t subscribe to the cult leader band teacher’s agenda. He took her maternity leave as an excuse to try an art class. He remembers his art teacher would sit in the corner watching soap operas and rubbing lotion on her hands. He doesn’t credit her with anything except once asking him if he’d thought about majoring in art.
Scott found West Virginia University in a big book of colleges and universities. He liked it because the campus was pretty and, on a visit, he met a professor that he liked. He knew that pursuing art wouldn’t guarantee a stable living, but it seemed like his professors had a pretty sweet gig. He thought he could do that.
“If I can be in the top three percent, I’ll be successful.” It is this mentality, he tells me, that took him to graduate school at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, and eventually to a faculty position at Beloit. He can tell when a student has what it takes to be an artist. There are kids who are really talented but don’t think that art matters. He’s now been a working artist for over 20 years so it’s clear that he has what it takes, and can see it in some of his students. “I guess I think it matters,” he says with a soft chuckle.
On another morning, sitting amidst the carefully curated piles in his office in the Wright Museum of Art, he thinks carefully about how to describe his art. “There’s a weirdness in my work that gives it a particular voice.” He is inspired by the desire to be present, to be aware of things and experience them in the moment. He looks at something long enough to see what’s really there, not just what’s supposed to be there. “I think that’s important. Doing work that’s realistic or representational can be seen as conservative or academic, but I see it as increasingly relevant to immerse myself in a space and find something in it.”
Scott likes to draw with graphite and ballpoint pens. He makes prints and paints black-and-white watercolors that could be photographs. His work has a smoky and ethereal quality that makes you want to touch it. It’s not enough to see that it’s real. He’s disinterested in faces and figures, but the objects and spaces that he draws have a human quality. If you look at it long enough, you might find yourself relating to “Two Bandaid Boxes on My Window Sill.” I asked him about the legacy he hopes to leave behind, and he tells me he doesn’t think about that. “Some of this stuff might end up in thrift stores” he says. And that would be fine with him.
Credit: Scott Espeseth
In a world constantly being created and consumed by digital media and screens, I can see how feeling the weight of the pencil in your hand might offer a moment of clarity. Feeling the texture of a piece of paper and understanding how to manipulate a paint brush can give you a sense of control, make you feel powerful. Watching the class on this warm afternoon, I witness another generation of aspiring artists beginning to grasp this.
After explaining the assignment, Scott steps out of the room. The students settle into a focused quiet. Some chat here and there. Some come out from behind their easels to talk about the assignment and collaborate. They’re in the moment. They’re immersed in the space, in the assignment, and in each other.
As I’m packing up to go, I ask him one last question, “Do you have any crazy dream projects that you want to do but haven’t had the time or resources?”
“I don’t work that way. I don’t have crazy dream projects, I just do the next one and the next one and the next one. The dream project is the whole thing.” As the class ends, I feel a sense of gratitude for this glimpse of the project that is his art, his teaching, and his life.
