I, too, remember so vividly and with such happiness the story time when our teachers would read aloud after lunch time. I think my 6th grade year was best, because the stories were more interesting. On occasion, I remember going to look for the same book at the library, so that I could read it aloud to my little sisters. When I became a teacher, I knew this was a "Must Do" in the curriculum. I debated about whether to allow doodling and drawing, wanting so much for the kids to be involved in our common story, and worrying that their art would take them away. Even when it did, it was such a great combination, and may have even kept them more involved and awake than not being able to doodle or draw. Thank you Jacqui for reminding me how important all art connections are to making us fully human. And what a rich schooling to have included a weekly wander through the halls of an excellent museum.
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Facing My Past
Facing My Past. I think of all the faces I have drawn. Most were not in art making environments. While other folks doodled and made those twirly girly lines, I drew whatever or whoever was in front of me.
I still remember my first real portrait. My sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Stoebe, read aloud to us after each lunch recess. We were allowed to rest, doodle, or listen attentively. One afternoon I drew her face…short curly black hair, round face, huge glasses with no eyes. I gave it to her and she said she would keep it always.
My portraits in class continued throughout my academic career. There is hardly a teacher or professor who has not appeared among my class notes with thin turquoise lines tattooed across his or her face. Interestingly, while drawing, I was still able to attend to the lecture and classroom discussion. I think my brain was compartmentalized and organized into two compatible tasks. I don’t know anything about the science of brains or the politics of multi-tasking. But in these drawing-listening situations, I was able to do both simultaneously. I know that today, if my models were able to keep still while talking, I would gladly listen to their stories.
I continued sketching in the workplace. During small work meetings, I drew pens, paper cups, and paper clips. Occasionally I risked drawing the face of a nearby co-worker. During these meetings, I would make some work-appropriate sounds to show I was listening while drawing. In large training settings, I always reverted to the portrait habits of my student days. One very slow Christmas Eve, with no work to do, I sat at my desk and drew staff portraits. I was later reprimanded for drawing portraits on State Time.
I looked forward to a retirement where I could flagrantly draw and paint portraits. I wasn’t sure of the exact nature of my pursuit and toyed with several ideas. I considered buying a sun hat and sitting on the Santa Monica Pier drawing portraits. Then, I thought that, perhaps, I would become a forensic artist. I envisioned renderings that actually looked like a unique person rather than the generic perp. And, recently, I was reminded of another fleeting post-retirement fantasy when I read an LA Times article: Evidence May Be Sketchy, But Not This Courtroom Artist’s Drawings. An interesting article on a unique career. Although I did not pursue this occupation, I whole-heartedly embrace the courtroom artist’s sentiment:
The cold eye of the camera doesn’t pick up the essence of the story unfolding before you. A camera doesn’t capture the soul.
—Mona Shafer Edwards, courtroom artist.
With these words, I face my future.
