There is nothing better than undertaking your favourite activities with someone who is a little more skilled at whatever you are doing. Everything I do involves skills I have learned from experience alone and in the company of advanced practitioners who have allowed me an "apprentice" experience. "Apprenticing" is my favourite way to learn; I do not learn happily from text.

With this in mind, imagine my discomfort when I started reading about visual art. Honestly, few things have made me feel less adequate than reading some articles of art criticism. I've read articles on string theory that were easier to comprehend even though physics is, for me, the ultimate stretch. And although the physics articles were terribly demanding, the challenge drew me in. For whatever reason, however, the "artspeak" of some journals was alienating. In this field, more than any other therefore, I have sought mentors over publications.

Having several friends who are visual artists, curators, visual art journalists, visual arts administrators or technical workers, I found a way of learning that was perfect for me. By attending exhibitions with these friends I learned a lot in a wonderful way. Everything they say as we walk through shows teaches me about the visual arts in the perfect way for me. I love the interaction—being able to ask questions about what they have said or offering my own observations for their response. The ultimate delight, of course, involves touring the exhibition of a favourite artist or an incredible collection or gallery with these "personal guides."

When my guides travel, their postcards and emails further my love of the arts. In their writing I feel their passion for art—like my friend who recently visited Chicago. From the abundant public art, to the Museum of Modern Art, to its architecture and its park of Frank Lloyd Wright designs, Chicago is an extremely stimulating city. My friend was in Chicago to see a show and to hear a presentation by the artist. His email about the experience moved me to tears; here was an accomplished professional artist writing to me about the artist in the world he revered most. I loved sharing in his delight and could hardly wait to talk to him about his experience on his return.

One thing has surprised me about my visual art education—I have learned more from the visual artworks that I don't like or don't understand than I have from visual artworks that I do find particularly appealing. My guides help me see things I would not have seen without them; they provide context, insight and motivation. They enrich the experience and often leave me with changed impressions. When I like a work, that's often as deep as I go. I just revel in the pleasure of the piece's magic, beauty or power. Yes, sometimes I ask myself why I like a piece, but I always ask myself (or my guide) why I don't like something that I find particularly unappealing and that is why I feel I have learned so much from pieces I might otherwise not see.

This concept of "personal guides" came to mind during two recent experiences—attending a lecture by Stan Douglas and reading "Artichoke" magazine. Truth be told: I love beauty. I can be thrilled by the combination of colour and design. I love the beauty of flowers, fabrics, faces and visual art as well as the beauty of many artworks that can reveal horrible truths about our world, so contemporary visual art that requires a lot of contextual knowledge is challenging for me. So, as someone who found Stan Douglas's work to require a lot of work to appreciate its complexity, I jumped at the chance to hear him speak at a lecture presented by the Contemporary Art Society of Vancouver.

I loved every minute of Stan's illustrated lecture. Like my friend/guides, he spoke in plain English without any "artspeak." He was far, far more accessible for me than many of the writers whom I have read to understand his work. Throughout the lecture I kept thinking, this is what an opening should be instead of the schmooze fest that interferes with the viewing/learning experience of most openings. His lecture was a real learning and contextualizing experience, the only sad part being that there was no accompanying gallery in which to view a collection of the work we had just discussed.

The next day, I came upon a back issue of "Artichoke," Paula Gustafson's magazine. As I read it I realized that Paula has been a guide in print to me and many other Canadian art lovers for many, many years. As artist Bettina Matzkuhn recently mentioned to me: "Artichoke" covers a wide range of visual art including the contemporary craft community—a vibrant, award-winning bunch that would hardly find exposure elsewhere as Canada has no national craft journal." I was saddened to learn recently, that "Artichoke" has ceased to be a publication due to lack of Canada Council funding. A full breakdown of the funding that has been granted is listed on Artichole's website. I find it troubling that the bulk of funding was distributed throughout Ontario and Quebec, where there is a higher concentration of artists and arts organizations, leaving regional publications outside of these two provinces with a decidedly smaller number of grants. Were you familiar with "Artichoke?" Are you troubled by the Council's policies? Paula lists some email addresses where you can send your opinion at www.artichoke.ca/about.php

One other thing about my preference for learning from a personal guide is the sense of obligation I feel to return the favour. I make a point of being a teacher/guide for the children of my friends—I give these kids original art as presents and when I can, I enjoy taking them through exhibitions that I think are particularly appropriate for the both of us. There's no better way to talk values with them and to get to know them. Not all the kids have turned into visual art fans, but they are, at least, very respectful of the creative process. Some of them have become articulate observers, not just of visual art, but of our culture. I like to think my guides and I have played a part in an important part of their education.