D in Art

January 4, 2015 Babe 0 Comments

When I was in school, I’d be quite lucky to occasionally muster a C- in art. Years and years of dreading art lessons, the drudgery of pulling out paints and brushes, always somehow the wrong type, texture, size; art teachers hovering over me while I try not to spill water over my desk. The despair of seeing someone else’s piece when we handed in our work and getting a big D in red, prominently over my encrusted piece of art block.

My father was an artist of sorts-water colours were his medium; quiet, subtle, retreating like himself. He would leave the pencil marks and wash them over with a few light colours. Not quite the gaudy, heavy poster colour type of work that was rather favoured in school (and no, we do not want to see your pencil outlines!).  Asking him to help with art homework was a little tragic when the pieces came back with an arrogant C+. He liked sketching too; stenciling rather detailed drawings on his physics exam question paper in the days of typewriters and carbon paper. He took photos of objects, trees, mounted them on slides which I don’t think ever got a second look.

I went to Italy when I possibly had the least amount of money, flying all the way from Asia. I came back with photos of buildings and started sketching. I gave my maiden pieces to the man who shall only be known as “Useless Husband”. He and the paintings started their journey in Cambodia and traveled to Congo and Thailand. I am still sketching, thinking of my father and forgetting the D grades in my life.