(photo: Newfoundland)
Dr. May Banham, an old family friend, and professor of paediatric
psychology at Duke University, used to visit us in Pte-Claire, every summer, on
her way home to England. She came by when I was six months old and told the folks to put a pencil
in my hand asap, as it would be the best means for me to express myself and
enhance my development.
I remember drawing copiously on paper towels, which were easily accessed from a dispenser in the kitchen. The early drawings I referred to as, “action pictures”. Like cartoon strips, the characters had words in bubbles, which were short vertical lines for each word. This was a source of great frustration to me and served to accelerate my actual learning to read/write.
Sometimes I worked out difficult emotional episodes in my life by drawing. A good example was the time I came back from my brother’s cub-scout event where I was terribly jealous of his getting lots of attention for having won a medal. Mom said I immediately reached for a paper towel and proceeded to draw a very ugly little cub-scout, beside a large, beautiful self-portrait… Voilà, mood turned from sour to delighted!
As soon as I could read, the word, “ART” was a beacon…it always jumped out at me. I somehow knew that this was my one constant, and my best and only truly reliable friend. Everything to do with ART was of great interest to me. My father was a “commercial artist”, during the 60’s. He used to bring home all kinds of work-related paraphernalia; including the very first felt pens/sharpies; sheets of Letraset (transferable typeset in a zillion fonts); and many pots of gouache, and artist quality coloured pencils and brushes. He encouraged me to use all of it, and both parents and extended family all supported my artistic bent with constant approval and acclamation of whatever I produced.
As I grew up, my aesthetic sensibilities were honed through exposure and time spent with my parents and teachers, discussing all manner of art, including painting, sculpture, music, literature, architecture, and photography. It all fascinated me.
Art was not really something I shared with my peers. I had lots of friends with whom I studied at school, played sports and games with, along with various other activities. Art was always something I mostly kept to myself. I began keeping a “logbook”, when my family hit a rough patch, due to my parents’ health issues, resulting in a dramatic shift in our overall security and financial means.
Suddenly thrown into a much darker reality, art became a veritable life raft for me. The logbook (writing and drawings) habit has stayed with me since the age of 11 years. Still have a running one, and somehow managed to keep them all, despite my vagabond-nomad life.
As I entered adulthood, art was very much a constant, if not the main focus for me. Undoubtedly, the latter was due to what I’d gleaned from my life experience thus far, which was never to put art in the role of providing my livelihood. I always maintained a very practical day job and kept my art pretty well free from any monetary involvement. People referred to me as an “artist”, but more for my demeanour and the company I kept. “Artist”, at that time, had a rather negative, somewhat seedy connotation. This always irked me.
There was a time during my 20’s-30’s when I collaborated with artistic friends and participated in a number of exhibitions and poetry events. I had a couple of solo exhibits of my artwork as well, which I enjoyed immensely. They were well received and provided the means for framing and offering my work to a broader audience than just my friends’ circle. Yet, this seemingly positive response never ignited the ambition to become a professional artist. In fact, it almost caused the opposite reaction.
I saw more and more people referring to themselves as “artists” who made very good money at it. This gave the “Artist” a much more acceptable guise, but the “art” seemed less authentic, more commercial, and not so interesting to me. My last exhibit was at the McGill Faculty Club, marking my having received a BFA; which secured my position as a lecturer in McGill’s Cont. Ed. Department, teaching Intensive English as a Second Language.
I travelled extensively through Latin America (Acapulco to Tierra del Fuego, and back) in my late 20s-early-30s, in two instalments, on a very limited budget. These trips allowed me to develop all manner of life skills and self-sufficiency. There was no end to the lessons a lone gringa had to learn, that’s for sure. Lots of notes and sketches record these mystical pilgrimages.
In my mid-30’s I went off to India, with the idea of leaving my, “teacher” persona, to that of a “student”. I’d heard that Sanskrit was the mother of all our Indo-European languages and that India was virtually another planet. That all sounded perfect, as my hometown had become a kind of playpen, too easy for me to navigate and not providing enough inner wisdom. I’ve never regretted this decision.
While in India, I continued to do artwork, including all kinds of devotional imagery in pictures and murals. I also began to sing a lot and play some percussion instruments during traditional “kirtan” sessions. There was non-stop learning; as in these new surroundings, initially without language skills; I was humbled into a state of almost infant-like ignorance.
Everybody was my teacher there, including animals, insects and small children. Being in such an alien environment, on my own, was indeed an opportunity to get face-to-face with my real self. All of this granted me a whole new beginning, leaving behind old notions, digging up old traumas and discarding them as I got to know my true self. What a boon! The creative process has never wavered, as I never stopped creating with all/any fabulous materials, people, and opportunities afforded me. It has been one huge, art installation after another for me.
Designing clothes, itineraries, making jewellery, co-creating several beach resorts in Goa, with Rashid…the restaurant menus, the furnishings, the huts, the staff and customers… a never-ending kaleidoscope of wonderful, kinetic, art installations!
How many people get to do this? It’s not for everybody, mind you, as it entails having all the fear within scared out of one. Not the easiest nor most pleasant experience, but certainly invaluable, especially in retrospect.
People often ask, “Don’t you paint anymore?” “The painting has morphed into a whole way of life,” I lamely tell them. Perhaps with time, less mobility, and a clearer vision, I may turn to my dear ✍️ and 🎨 in order to continue to share the infinite suffering and joy I’ve experienced, and we all experience in our own unique ways. These are what life is all about.
