Are You Seeking Mentors?

By Ivan Barnett

Arthur, Georgia, and Carl who showed me the way, image by Ivan Barnett

“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”
— Winston Churchill

When I was younger, I thought finding mentors would be easy. I pictured walking into the right room, shaking the right hand, and being welcomed into some golden circle of wisdom and assumed mentorship was something the world owed you once you dared to call yourself an artist—or a professional. I was wrong. Over time, I learned that seeking mentors is an art in itself—and not an easy one.

I grew up watching my father, Isa Barnett, an artist who placed craft above everything else. He had teachers, yes, but mostly, he was his own fiercest critic, his own private counsel. From him, I learned that mentors don’t always show up. Sometimes mentorship is watching quietly from the sidelines or one brutal, life-altering conversation. Mentorship sometimes it’s just silence—forcing you to figure it out on your own.

Mentorship as a Practice

Throughout my life, I’ve sought mentorship constantly: older creatives and artists, collectors, business leaders, curators. Some opened doors. Some offered subtle nudges. And a few delivered tough truths that stung for years—but shaped me more than any easy praise ever could.  The year I graduated art school, I had a lot of self conflict over joining the armed forces and exiting America because of the draft.  I went to the studio of one of my father’s mentors, Robert Riggs, one of Philadelphia’s foremost illustrators with just an amazing, extraordinary talent. 

I went to him and said, “Mr. Riggs, I don’t believe in this war and the draft.”  This was 1969.  He said, “you must go in not necessarily because you believe in the politics of the war, but the experience would be pivotal in changing your maturity.”  He served in WWI and Isa served in WWII.  “You go from being a boy to an adult by the nature of military training.”  I ended up not needing to go into combat.  I was sent to Washington, DC, to be an artist. I went through basic training, learned how to take orders, but I was not on the front lines of soldiers not coming back.

I’ve come to believe that seeking mentorship is a lifelong practice—rooted in curiosity, humility, and resilience. But let me say this straight: finding truly great mentors isn’t easy. It takes nerve, patience, and a willingness to sit in discomfort. And sometimes, it takes facing the hard truth that you might need to become the mentor you’re looking for.

Isa Barnett, the mentor who changed my life, image by Isa Barnett

Growth and Struggle

We live in a culture that makes mentorship look easy—like it’s something you can download, book, or buy. But it’s not. Especially in the arts, where competition, ego, practice, and isolation often build walls instead of bridges.

Not everyone has easy access to a mentor.  I remember early in my career, one of my early mentoring opportunities was to read business publications like the Harvard Business Review, Financial Times and the Wall Street Journal.  The authors ended up mentoring me, in a way, and I would follow their work for insights on being a businessperson in the arts.  I lived in a rural place at the time and there were not many people around to for mentorship.  I could do research and discover great mentor resources and uncover what experts do in specific areas of business.  With today’s internet, you can go online and find brilliant voices that can inspire and guide.  I still do so myself today.

Mentorship, when it arrives, often wears strange disguises. A harsh but honest review. A seasoned artist who won’t give you the answer because they know your version must be different. A teacher who holds back just enough to make you think for yourself. You may knock on a hundred doors before one opens—and that’s part of the practice and process.

Willing to Ask—and Patience

I still look for mentors. Even now. I find them in conversations, in books, in museums, in how an artist solves a problem or how a gallerist weathers a storm.

Sometimes mentorship lasts a single moment—a glance, a phrase, an unexpected kindness. Other times, it becomes a bond that stretches over years. But it always starts the same way: with the courage to ask and the patience to listen.

You can’t chase mentorship like a transaction. You build it through respect, attentiveness, and by following through.

And you’ve got to be selective. Not every teacher is meant for you. Not every voice deserves a seat at your table. Part of growing up as a creative—and as a human—is learning when to lean in and when to trust the instincts you’ve earned through hard, isolating work.

He could draw like the wind, image by Ivan Barnett

Becoming What You Need

Here’s the hard truth: sometimes the mentors never show up. You wait. You reach out and hope. Nothing happens. You ache for guidance and long for validation.

But here’s the real secret: every time you looked for a mentor and didn’t find one—you were quietly becoming one. You were learning what it means to hold space. To listen without an agenda. To guide without dictating. That’s what a true mentor does.

Today, through Serious Play, I work closely with artists, gallerists, and cultural leaders. At its heart, that work is mentorship. Not because I’ve got all the answers—I don’t. But because I know how rare it is to find someone who really listens. Someone who can say, “You’re close—keep going,” or “Something’s missing—look again,” without dousing your fire.

I’ve seen how a well-timed sentence can shift an entire career. I’ve lived it.

closing Reflections

If you’re someone who’s always seeking mentors—don’t stop. Just know the best guidance doesn’t always arrive how you expect. It won’t always feel soft or safe. Sometimes it’s a gift you give yourself through persistence, curiosity, and the decision to stay teachable at every stage of your life.

And when you’ve lived long enough to have some wisdom of your own, share it. Be the mentor you once longed for. This world has enough critics. What it needs are more steady hands. More people willing to say, “I see you. I believe in what you’re building.”

I’ll leave you with this quote from Maya Angelou, one I return to often:

“In order to be a mentor, and an effective one, one must care. You must care. You don’t have to know how many square miles are in Idaho, the chemical makeup of of blood or water. Know what you know and care about the person, care about what you know and care about the person you’re sharing with.”—Maya Angelou

With you always,
Ivan Barnett
Founder, Serious Play
www.serious-play.co