So you know how you may have dabbled in art at high school, but the teacher didn't think you had any 'perspective'? (actual art teacher said that to an actual friend of mine). So you weren't sure you had the goods to continue on trying. This has been me since high school. Not necessarily because I was told my perspective was skewed (poor Chelsea has to live with that memory) but more because my grandmother was a crazy talented, successful artist. This talent has no apparent genetic connection to me.
BUT (there's always a but), since doing weekly art classes I've thought about my dear Nana Hilda and her own artistic journey. Hilda only discovered her own talents around my age. Well, I should say rediscovered - much like Chelsea, Hilda had a bad experience with a teacher at a very early age, over a drawing that she did. It wasn't that she didn't have talent - she did. The teacher simply didn't believe that a child could be that capable and accused her of lying. She was so admonished by this teacher that she never attempted art until much later - her 30s. Funny how these single moments shape the course of someone's life (#teacherlyfe - the power to crush children's dreams is pretty scary).
Anyhoo, my point here is that although there never appeared to be any artistic inheritance from Hilda to myself, I do owe all my creativity to her. While wondering if I should've been paying more attention to her when she was painting or sketching, or even just asking her to show me a thing or two, a realisation came to me. Unlike her teacher, or Chelsea's, the single most important thing she did was to not teach me anything all. I'll explain.
As a child, my sister and I were pretty fantastical. We spent a lot of time with Nana Hilda. We played crazy, elaborate dressing up games - her house was our cubby house, our stage, our dressing room, our studio. We helped ourselves to everything. Her clothes, her jewellery, her art stuff. Nana would often be our third character in a grand hotel we made up and (I can't believe I'm admitting this in a public arena) we would make her the maid and ring a little bell when we wanted something (argh, so bratty). Incredibly, she let us and went along with it. No game was too big - if we wanted to create the City to Bay tram, complete with ticket machine, then Nana would provide the expired tram tickets (to this day, I'm unclear on why she never threw them away). We used all her art supplies, but she always left us to it. And kept everything we did - she thought what we did was wonderful and told us so. This encouragement is worth more and means more than any lesson ever could.
So while I may not be successful in the way my amazing Nana was, in the two months that I've had art as a hobby, other funny little successes have popped up instead:
Socialising - the big one really, as it was the motivating factor to begin with, but the opportunity to meet new people in the area who share the same interests is so great. And we have amazing chats over tea and cake.
Mindfulness - I am all about the mindfulness. Seriously though, whilst paying attention to something detail-oriented like sketching or painting, you can pay attention to nothing else. Empty head bliss (except for lines and shapes and colours and all that).
Opportunity to unwind - not too dissimilar to mindfulness, except that with a glass of red (or two) and two hours in a relaxed environment, the pressures of the day are well and truly passed.
Connecting with my grandmother - when my Nana passed away, she had dementia. Not uncommon for someone her age, but it was particularly distressing because she forgot how to paint. She forgot her greatest joy. I felt really sad about that for a long time. I don't know why, but now that I'm having a go at art myself, I feel less sad. I feel like she's around me, offering that same gentle encouragement. And no matter how terrible my attempt is - I know she thinks it's wonderful.
Who knew that a simple hobby could give so much?
E x
What hobbies are inspiring you dear readers? Leave us a comment below, or at our FB page x
BUT (there's always a but), since doing weekly art classes I've thought about my dear Nana Hilda and her own artistic journey. Hilda only discovered her own talents around my age. Well, I should say rediscovered - much like Chelsea, Hilda had a bad experience with a teacher at a very early age, over a drawing that she did. It wasn't that she didn't have talent - she did. The teacher simply didn't believe that a child could be that capable and accused her of lying. She was so admonished by this teacher that she never attempted art until much later - her 30s. Funny how these single moments shape the course of someone's life (#teacherlyfe - the power to crush children's dreams is pretty scary).
Anyhoo, my point here is that although there never appeared to be any artistic inheritance from Hilda to myself, I do owe all my creativity to her. While wondering if I should've been paying more attention to her when she was painting or sketching, or even just asking her to show me a thing or two, a realisation came to me. Unlike her teacher, or Chelsea's, the single most important thing she did was to not teach me anything all. I'll explain.
As a child, my sister and I were pretty fantastical. We spent a lot of time with Nana Hilda. We played crazy, elaborate dressing up games - her house was our cubby house, our stage, our dressing room, our studio. We helped ourselves to everything. Her clothes, her jewellery, her art stuff. Nana would often be our third character in a grand hotel we made up and (I can't believe I'm admitting this in a public arena) we would make her the maid and ring a little bell when we wanted something (argh, so bratty). Incredibly, she let us and went along with it. No game was too big - if we wanted to create the City to Bay tram, complete with ticket machine, then Nana would provide the expired tram tickets (to this day, I'm unclear on why she never threw them away). We used all her art supplies, but she always left us to it. And kept everything we did - she thought what we did was wonderful and told us so. This encouragement is worth more and means more than any lesson ever could.
So while I may not be successful in the way my amazing Nana was, in the two months that I've had art as a hobby, other funny little successes have popped up instead:
Socialising - the big one really, as it was the motivating factor to begin with, but the opportunity to meet new people in the area who share the same interests is so great. And we have amazing chats over tea and cake.
Mindfulness - I am all about the mindfulness. Seriously though, whilst paying attention to something detail-oriented like sketching or painting, you can pay attention to nothing else. Empty head bliss (except for lines and shapes and colours and all that).
Opportunity to unwind - not too dissimilar to mindfulness, except that with a glass of red (or two) and two hours in a relaxed environment, the pressures of the day are well and truly passed.
Connecting with my grandmother - when my Nana passed away, she had dementia. Not uncommon for someone her age, but it was particularly distressing because she forgot how to paint. She forgot her greatest joy. I felt really sad about that for a long time. I don't know why, but now that I'm having a go at art myself, I feel less sad. I feel like she's around me, offering that same gentle encouragement. And no matter how terrible my attempt is - I know she thinks it's wonderful.
Who knew that a simple hobby could give so much?
E x
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| Making a mess! |
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| Joint project - there's a horse head somewhere in there... (tilt head right) |
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| Those old gum trees |
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| Make of this what you will - some kind of fire dancer? |
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| I was so proud of myself to sketch, from real life, the outline of a human - even if it slightly resembled that weird doll from Lift Off |
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| So the head is little and the body is ginormous - but it's a person! Could you tell? |
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