Odd Duck

Posted on August 25, 2012 by MaryALivingston

One of the boys grabbed the snake from her cage, she bit him. He dropped her and she quickly hid behind textbook boxes. The kids all stepped back. When I reached into the six-foot boa’s hiding place, she calmly slid into my hand. We became friends. It was the first week of school, I turned 11 that week. I liked drawing pictures, racing bikes, climbing trees, snakes, and math. I was an odd duck.

In all fairness, I understand her perspective. The program instructor from Seed Planted 4. When the program instructor told me that I was not good at art, that I should focus on math and science. I was crushed. She did not do this to be mean, she was trying to help me. The circumstances were such:
I lived in a poor community.
I was from a poor family.
I did not have a good home life.
I had a high math and science aptitude.

The instructor viewed math and science as my way out of cultural poverty. This was back in the days, those unenlightened days, of girls don’t like math. I was an odd duck. I liked math and was good at it. The numbers just made sense. So when she announced that I had a class where I could learn anything, I said, “I want to learn to draw,” my request did not sit well with her plan for my future.

Truth be told, I don’t think she relayed the message from the expert who looked at my art. I did not receive direct feedback. It came from the instructor, not the source, and the instructor had an agenda.

The saving grace for growing up. My favorite teacher. My grandparents.

Art finds a way in, no matter the path we take.
When the front doors are closed, we may just find a back door left ajar and have a chance to sneak bliss on the naysayer’s watch.

Kids – the original backdoor artists

Posted on August 24, 2012 by MaryALivingston

Many parents have stories of various hidden locations where their child’s art had to be removed when preparing to move from one home to another. I believe this was the sole inspiration for the product Mr.Clean® Magic Eraser®.

Children seem to sneak creating art wherever they can.
On the wall.
In the closet.
Under the bed.
The backsides of doors.
On the inside of clothing drawers.
On toys like wooden blocks and trains.
And my personal favorite… on their siblings.

To a child, any surface is a canvas. Kids are naturally backdoor artists, sneaking a little bliss even when they know it’s a “no, no.” I ponder this thought, because today is my eldest son’s birthday. Framed, on my office wall are creations from when he and his brother were little.

by Chris Livingston (age 5 years, 11 months)

He continues his creative aspirations, sneaking in art while programming games and apps. http://www.korphane.com/

Happy Birthday Chris.
With love,
Mom

A back door opening

Posted on August 22, 2012 by MaryALivingston

I put my drawing supplies away from view. I still sketched in secret, but it grew less and less.
I focused on math and science.
My next grade change in our three room school included a new teacher. For a science lesson, we made pin hole cameras. A section of our class was converted into a makeshift darkroom. My spirits energized as I watched the image come to life. This was our science class, but I saw art as the light painted image in the emulsion emerged.

I started saving my babysitting money and the pay I received for my after school job to buy a camera. It was clear to me that the science of photography could feed my creative passion.
The back door was left open and I slipped in.

Seed Planted 4

Posted on August 21, 2012 by MaryALivingston

Learn about anything I want? Really?
Okay, I want to learn to draw. What 10-year-old little girl wouldn’t?

The next week the special program instructor arrived with an art book. I was ecstatic. I poured myself into the lessons. I shared every step with my favorite teacher. She told me the parts she liked the best. She arranged for the program instructor to take me to an art museum. At the encouragement of my teacher, samples of my artwork were given to the curator. The next week the special program instructor returned to my school with her interpretation of what the art expert thought of my work. I was so excited, Grandpa would be so proud.

The program instructor began slowly, without a smile, “You should focus on math and science. You are good at math and science. There is no future for you in art.”
As she began to list deficiencies in my drawings, my face grew hot, the room turned gray as all color left my view. I could no longer hear. When I was alone and no one was looking, I cried.

I never told Grandpa.

Seed planted.

Seed Planted 3

Posted on August 20, 2012 by MaryALivingston

It was hard to breath. I was so cold. The nurses sponged my arms and legs with ice water to bring the fever down. My flesh hurt all the way to the bone. Their smiles and tenderness made it easier to cope.

When my fever broke the head nurse brought me a gift. A pad of paper and a kid set of watercolors. What a treat. I didn’t have anything like this. I had crayons, pencils and stray sheets of paper. My own paper pad and real paints, I forgot all about the needles and hospital smells.

My first painting with these watercolors was a puppy. A warm brown puppy with floppy ears and a wet nose. The puppy sat beneath a bouquet of pink, red and orange roses. The painted strokes were not translucent showing the brilliance of watercolor, but rather thick opaque pudding globs like tempera school paints.

Didn’t matter to me. I painted a puppy.

I gave this painting to the nurse who gave me the paints and paper. Then I painted another puppy beneath roses. Again and again. I gave versions of the same puppy and roses to all the nurses until my paint set was used up.

Seed planted.

Seed Planted 2

Posted on August 19, 2012 by MaryALivingston

Grandpa’s lap was warm and safe. We watched the moon landing together. He was wary of these complicated things, but he knew how to draw. He drew pictures of horses and cowboys. Occasionally, just for me, he drew a little cowgirl with dark eyes and curls. We made up stories to go with the pictures. Sometimes we made up pictures to go with stories.

Seed planted.