During a recent trip to Christchurch my Dad finally got me to unclutter his garage. I never officially moved out of home when I was younger. I went to summer camp in America when I was 18 then got a job at an outdoor centre in the Akaroa Harbour when I was 19, I stayed there during the week but often came home for weekends. Then it was off overseas so my parents were left with my room full of ‘stuff’. They renovated the house while I was travelling so it all got boxed up and there it stayed until last year.
Of course there was A LOT of art, my whole early journey as an artist was enclosed in folders, books and photos along with a lot of memories. Much of it went in the bin, however there were so many drawings and paintings I remembered doing and what I learnt from them that I had to keep them. And there was the presence of all the teachers I’ve had along the way.
One of the most common questions I get asked is if I went to art school. When I say no people assume I’m self taught. Sure I’ve taught myself a lot but I’ve also had the privilege of many teachers. My parents were the first, some of my earliest memories of art are Dad spreading a big roll of newsprint down the lino from the front door to the kitchen and drawing the looney toons all over it. He drew in pencil and I followed behind tracing his lines with a vivid. I remember Mum setting up my little easel with layers of paper held up with big bull clips and the paint pots with the lids with a brush hole in the middle like you see at kindy lined up at the bottom.
I did my first water colour painting with Dad. We stretched our paper in the bath and used the brown tape around the edges. We worked on it for what seemed like a long time adding a few layers each session. And we made a paper mache rabbit and hippo. Dad taught me the rules about copying, perspective and colour, Mum encouraged me to break them and promoted creativity. I painted ceramics with Mum learning about firing and glazes. And spent hours in my room with coloured paper and pencils creating intricate cards for all the family occasions. My parents are my biggest fans and critics, I still send photos of my work in progress and finished pieces for their opinions.
On our annual family camping trip one year my Uncle Michael took all the cousins plein air painting not just once but multiple times. He would line us all up with our paper and paints and get all excited about the ‘marks’ we made. I didn’t quite understand what he meant but I do now. Young people paint with such unconscious freedom in a way adults can’t. Whenever we visited him in Geraldine he would take me into the school art room and show me all the projects that him and his students were working on. And always had a complementary and encouraging word about my latest creations. I’m proud to own one of his paintings. We both painted Shag Rock which once stood at the end of Sumner Beach in Christchurch but toppled over in the earthquakes. We each liked the others piece so swapped. There’s not much wall space in our house but that painting gets more than its fair share of time on the wall.
Also in my family are aunties and uncles with their own artforms who always encouraged me and there was my Oma. Oma could make anything out of material. She was an absolute whiz on a sewing machine making clothes, car seat covers, costumes and fixing my brother’s windsurf sails.
Then there was Annette Ashton. She moved into a house on the corner of our street when I was 10. She was a brilliant painter and a recluse. On a rare occasion of her being out on the street Mum started talking to her. She found out that Annette painted and said something like, ‘that’s great! my daughter Ginney loves to paint. I’ll send her over” I hate to think what Annette thought about that but true to her word Mum sent me over.
From that day I painted with Annette every Friday until I was about 16. I have Annette to thank for my ability to see colour and never make ‘mistakes’. Annette didn’t believe in mistakes. If something didn’t go to plan as often happens with water colour then it was seen as an opportunity or chance to learn and was just part of the journey of the painting. The first thing I painted with Annette was a donkey. I arrived and she sat me down with a piece of paper and asked what I wanted to paint. I had no idea so she picked up a magazine and choose the donkey picture. When we were finished the background and were up to the donkey she asked me what colour it was. I answered that it was brown. She patiently agreed then said, “and what else?” She then cut a square out of a white sheet of paper and held it over the donkey picture so all I could see was a square of colour. This she repeated with every painting I did for years until each time I had a row of colours laid out in front of me. Then we’d begin layer by layer to build up the image. She never once touched my work, always demonstrating on a piece of paper next to me and was always working on her own projects. She’d stop me and have me watch different techniques as she went along. She painted everything from children to birds to landscape, still life and surrealism. Each a masterpiece remained stashed away in her lounge for hardly anyone to see.
At intermediate school I looked forward to going to the art room all week. The art room was full of wonders; interesting books on an array of artists, a kiln and all sorts of pens, paints, papers, pastels, you name it, it was there. I was so excited to get stuck into whatever project was prepared for us then suddenly the hour was up after what felt like only minutes and that was it until the next week. At intermediate there were some very fun opportunities like art camps with established artists both at the school and away at the school’s camp in the Akaroa Harbour and set design and painting for the productions. .
At high school I found it difficult to produce a portfolio with all the correct sequences of working drawings. Most of the time I went about it my own way then worked backwards to make up a fake process of how I got the end result. After a while I thought that was pointless so just did my own thing without any care of what was expected of me. Luckily the teacher I had in sixth and seventh form recognised this and provided exercises and skills sessions to broaden my skills and better prepare me for being a working artist. When I left school abruptly mid way through seventh form I knew how to make and stretch canvases, had tried lots of different mediums and been challenged to paint subject matter that I found difficult.
To be continued…