Tag Archives: art

A Tale of Two Women

Walking into the Children’s Center entryway to drop my son off at preschool, I run into a new aide. She is an older women, impeccably dressed, whose pacing seems out of step with the general energy of pandemonium pervading the Center. I watch her guarded movements as she maneuvers her way through a throng of low, bobbling heads.

Internally, I catch myself wondering what her story is. There is not a trace of joy in countenance, nothing that says, “I am glad to be here.”

Across campus and across the studio from me in Advanced Life Drawing, paint is flying at a large sheet of hand-made paper from France. Above the rakish tilt of Betty Schneider’s large drafting table, I can just barely see her salt-n-pepper head bobbing as she works to capture the essence of the live model’s pose in abstract. Hers is a Pollack-esque dance which is difficult to confine to one cramped corner of the studio. Betty’s vigorous application of pigment to paper leaves a history of telltale red marks spattered across the model’s walled changing station, as well as giving measles to the room’s painted cinder-block walls in insitutional green.   

Spirituality

Without breaking the continuity of the room’s informal drawing circle, Betty’s neighbors have carefully tilted, shifted and otherwise distanced their own drafting tables as far from hers as is possible. Spattered paint aside, I think of them as shrinking from her creative exuberance.

Four weeks into her new role as a preschool-teacher’s aide, I find the older woman who is a new hire standing alone outside of a classroom. With a few words from me, her story spills forth. The narrative rolls out of her in a series of sorrowful sentences impregnated with the shock of fresh bitterness.

Her husband is on faculty. He found a new, young thing. She gave up her education and potential career to bear and raise four children. Her tiny studio apartment, which she can barely afford, is nothing like her former home—a rolling ranch affair with a large yard. Taking care of children is all she really knows how to do. Now there is no time for grandchildren. All of this after forty years of marriage.

Her heart has been broken. Her former dreams have died. And, her adjustment to her new socioeconomic circumstances is neither smooth nor easy. Then, the classroom door opens. I leave the scene in a stunned but unsurprised silence.

Betty Schneider is one of the most innovative and prolific students in the art department—middle-aged or not. Betty returned to the university to mend, after a nonamicable divorce and the recent loss of her beloved mother. Her method is Gestalt. What she creates has a one-of-a-kind strength in design. Yet, nothing she makes looks like anything recognizable. The art faculty actually fall silent in group critiques when approaching her engaging work.

Betty wins a major award during spring semester from a nationally recognized visual artist who has been brought in to curate and judge a regional art show. The entrants include local professionals, faculty members, as well as students.

Unreleased grief can cause a person to drown. Bitterness over past circumstances can lay like so many weeds under life’s moving waters—entangling even the most advanced of swimmers.

Even the natural joy that abounds in the Children’s Center seems to be passed over by the new aide. She is not managing to awaken to the gift that is each new day.

Betty Schneider has made up her mind. She is changing her name to Claire Shakti. Claire is for clarity and Shakti embodies the divine, feminine power which she IS. Claire has let go of all but a few of her personal belongings. Chicago awaits. After thirty years as a stay-at-home mother, she is going to work at the Chicago Art Institute as a guard. During her free time, Claire will be studying the French horn, taking the music lessons she has always wanted.

Spirituality: How Do We See? I

While attending a course in advanced-studio, life drawing, with a particularly gifted and innovative instructor, art students were given the assignment of drawing a life-size portrait of a seated, female model.

Spirituality

To accommodate the scope of the drawing project, sheets of three-foot-wide, brown wrapping paper were hung around the room in strips five-feet in length.  (As a point of reference, the average, large-format drawing tablet is eighteen by thirty-two inches.)  There were approximately eighteen students in the class, and several three-hour sessions were devoted to this one drawing project.

At the close of the last session, as students circulated around the room to offer comments on each other’s drawings, a most amazing theme came to light.  With the model still present, it became apparent that virtually every student–with the exception of two or three highly skilled draftsmen–had embued the model with some aspect of their own likeness, some aspect from among their own personal, physical traits.

Thus, the male student with the cleft chin had given the female model a cleft chin, though she did not have one.  A raven-haired female student had drawn a line of hair from the mound of Venus up to the model’s navel, though the model did not possess this trait.  A male student with a particularly thick set of eyebrows, which were barely distinguishable, gave the model a single eyebrow.  She clearly had two.  A female student with wide-set eyes rendered the model’s face with wide-set eyes, contrary to the manner in which the model’s eyes were actually set into her skull.

How do we see?  The world?  One another?  Are we always looking for something of ourselves in someone or something else?

I have observed people searching for the Self–their highest Light–as they move into relationships with other people, thinking they will find their Perfection in another person.  In one interpretation of the life-drawing-class experience, the visual rendering of a drawing student’s physical traits onto that of another person, the model, stands as a confirmation of how hopefully we look for something of ourselves in someone else–even if it is only something superficial, something having to do with mere appearance.