The naive child inside me!
‘You are naive artist!’ my maths teacher said holding up my painting for everyone to see. ‘I know this, by the childlike simplicity by which you paint. You also have the attention span of a flea, especially in my class!’ She stuck the small painting to the blackboard and although naive, it was quite clear what I had painted beneath my table....the maths teachers face! Everyone laughed, except me and the teacher.
‘This is not an art lesson,’ she said, confiscating my portable palette of square paints.
Ok, so I shouldn’t have been drawing, during maths lessons but nothing bored me more. The same sort of thing happened in geography class that same day.
‘Can someone describe a glacier?’ The geography teacher was a stern man and always used a long stick to point at the board. But this time he pointed it at random children sitting nervously in their chairs.
'Stand up and tell the class what a glacier is,' he said to a number of children, whislt totally ignoring my hand waving in the air. Oh I couldn’t believe my luck. Just the night before, my father had told me of the time he went to Antartica and saw a glacier for the first time. I wanted to tell the class all about it.
After he failed to get the right answer, he had no other choice other than to pick me. After all, I was still waving my hand in the air.
‘Stand up then!’ he shouted in my direction and so I stood but somehow the enthusiasm had diminished. What if I got it wrong? After being told on that very same day that I was a naive artist, perhaps I was a naive twelve year student all together.
So I thought of my father and how his description of the glacier sent me dreaming of them all night long.
‘It’s just like a river of snow!’ I began then couldn’t stop. ‘It shimmer’s an emerald green hue as it travels gracefully over rocks towards the sea.’
I had forgotten what my father said entirely and imagined the rest. Well it didn’t go down every well with the geography teacher. Twice in one day, I had a nasty shock.
The long wooden stick came down with an almighty crash on my desk.
‘STOP!’ the teacher almost begged. My mouth was open but nothing was coming out as I looked at him.
‘Never, in my whole life as a teacher, (which was 30 years I later discovered) have I ever come across a child with such a vivid imagination!’
I shook my head as if agreeing with him. I didn’t know what else to do.
‘Sit down!’ was the last thing I remember him saying to me, and not very kindly either. My father would be very disappointed, not with me, but with the teacher, for not letting me finish. I was about to get to the exciting bit, when my father slipped into the emerald green water and was rescued by a polar bear...I think he made that bit up to make me laugh. I guess it was just as well I didn’t finish, as I doubt anything could have made that teacher laugh.
So I grew up, a naive child with a vivid imagination. I guess that child remains inside me because I still prefer naive art which warms ones heart and soothes the soul. And yes, I have a copious amount of vivid imagination. But, according to my kind an unassuming husband, it makes for an interesting life!