The first time I stepped into Old Tarble, sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust motes and making the studio feel alive: light, glowy, and full of possibility. Here, I met Logan Grider, my professor for Painting II: Color and Structure, whose enthusiasm for art was as steady as the light filling the room. My workstation, conveniently located next to the coffee maker (the joy of smelling fresh coffee brewing at the start of class!), became my space for deeper exploration. Through Professor Grider’s precise demonstrations, thoughtful assignments that challenged our way of thinking, or minor color adjustments that changed entire works, I started to see deeper artistic connections.
His hands-on, integrative approach didn’t come from theory alone. Grider started as the kid who was “always drawing,” the one labeled as “the artist” in class. But he admits, “I had no idea what art was for a really long time.” Growing up in a small, culturally conservative town in Oregon, he had limited exposure to art. He attended art school in Chicago, hoping it would act as his escape hatch, only to find himself overwhelmed by the competitive environment. He felt hindered by his own narrow-mindedness. “I was belligerent, actually … I wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t look like extremely realized representational painting. I thought if I just worked harder than everybody else, I would do well,” he recalls.
But hard work alone wasn’t enough. After graduation, Grider moved to New York, where he worked construction and retail jobs to survive. In a tiny apartment with no space for oil painting, he hit a turning point. “I finally got rid of all the paintings, all the work I was making from undergrad. People took them, and I threw them away.” This act of letting go marked the beginning of a new start. He switched to acrylics, developed a disciplined schedule, and began to explore what his art could mean beyond technical skill. “I wasn’t curious until I was like 25,” he admits, shaking his head. “Maybe my frontal lobe hadn’t developed yet or something. But when I finally became curious, the world became really exciting.”
As an art major, hearing Grider call art school his “biggest regret” made me raise an eyebrow. But his explanation made sense. Art school, for him, was too narrow, too focused on technical skill at the expense of exploration. “I learned a lot about drawing and rendering, but very little about anything else,” he sighs. His experiences now shape his teaching at Swarthmore, where he’s fostered an opposite space: “We really want to encourage people to be expansive. All types of art-making are open here.”
And it shows. Grider doesn’t just show us how to mix colors or create a good composition, he actively engages us with problem-set-like challenges that force us to conceptualize on a deeper level. Our still-life project stands out to me: Reconstruct a still-life painting into a collage, then rebuild it as a painting while preserving essential color and shape relationships. The puzzle-like process helped us unearth new perspectives of seeing. Or the way he’ll gather us around art books, tracing connections between Renaissance techniques and contemporary pieces with the excitement of someone sharing trade secrets. “I love learning with the students,” he beams, reflecting on how teaching became his passion during his early grad school TA days. His classroom isn’t the competitive arena he endured in art school, but what he fondly calls “a cohort of explorers.” Under his guidance, we’re not just learning how to paint, but learning how to see the world through more thoughtful, curious eyes.
Grider’s relationship with curiosity was a repetitive theme I noticed during our conversation. From his early days of being “arrogant” and “close-minded” to now drawing inspiration from 14th-century Italian painting, 15th-century Dutch masters, and 13th-century Indian art, his journey reminds us that curiosity drives creativity. “I’m still deeply involved with all these different periods and cultures,” he says. “I love seeing the connections between different times in cultures and all the influences.” This passion and openness have enriched not only his work but also his teaching, where he encourages students to look beyond their immediate surroundings and ask, “Why?”
This idea of curiosity ties into a broader misconception Grider pointed out: the myth of the “Lone Artist Genius.” He grins as he recalls being the kid who was “always drawing,” but he’s quick to dismantle the idea that artists are born, not made. “Everyone needs help in the world,” he says. “You’re not going to get anywhere in the arts — or any field — without help.” This belief explains why he advocates art as fundamental education. “Drawing is a primary thing we should all be doing,” he insists, imagining a Swarthmore college with mandatory art classes — not necessarily to produce more professionals, but more perceptive humans. “It’s a form of communication, just like writing or speaking.”
With that, another question arises: What makes art “good” or “bad”? Grider defines it not by intention (or lack thereof) but by communication. “It’s when the painting fails to engage beyond its surface,” he explains. “It’s not formally dynamic or conceptually strong.” I thought of my debates with friends about how hyperrealism compares to abstract art, or if a banana taped to the wall qualifies as art. Grider’s perspective was refreshingly inclusive: “It all is speaking the same language. A strong representational painting and a strong abstract painting are both making space — just in different ways.”
His advice, then, circles back to his central philosophy: to stay curious. “Look at as much art as possible,” he urges. “Study why and how a piece was made. Keep an open mind.” He believes that the key to a meaningful artistic journey is finding your “why” beyond technical skill. “You can render the hell out of a plant,” he says with a smile, “but so what? What’s the point?”
Now, when sunlight streams through Old Tarble’s windows and dust motes dance with the vapor escaping the coffee machine, I think of Grider’s quiet lesson: art isn’t about perfectly rendering objects or environments, but about attentively seeing and communicating with them. From a narrow-minded student to an artist and educator championing curiosity, Grider’s journey shows that growth begins when we let go of old certainties. “All I want for students,” he says, “is to stay curious.” In a world obsessed with speed, his philosophy lingers like morning light in that studio: a call to slow down, to notice shape and color dynamics, and to keep asking questions. And perhaps, in doing so, we can all find our own creative compass.
Thank you or this wonderful account of the creative process. Logan the artist is the interpreter. We are so fortunate to have people like Logan spanning the space between function and the exhilarating dimension of potential. Our thoughts, our priorities… our lives are so enhanced by our ability to see how movement, pattern, color … work, and how our lives improve with this increased perception.