Then there are the torn scraps of paper adorned with children’s and grandchildren’s paintings which I just can’t bear to throw away: smudges and splashes of paint, unidentifiable objects and people, but all done with purpose - I can still see those little faces, full of concentration - and often just as covered in paint as the paper.A few weeks before I was fifty my husband told me he wanted to try out his school camera. I remember thinking it was slightly odd, as I was the photographer, he never bothered. He took a couple of close ups of my face and seemed satisfied with the results. I didn’t give it another thought until I was presented with a large framed canvas on my birthday, my own face staring back at me.
It’s not a true likeness but it’s undoubtedly me, and made all the more special by the thought behind it and the effort that went into it. Another favorite.However, after a lot of thought, I think my all time favorite painting, now 66 years old and hanging on the wall in my front room is one entitled, ‘In 1956 Mrs Reidy Wanted to Become a Hairdresser……’Painted at the age of four, I remember it vividly: the sight and smell of those solid paint blocks, the way they felt heavy in my hand, how the brush scraped against the paper as it dried, the paper itself, thin and easily ripped. I worked with a concentration that was subsequently lacking as a reckless teen.
In 1956 Mrs Reidy Wanted to Become a Hairdresser
The subject was, ‘What I want to be when I grow up.’
We didn’t have canvases, palettes or multiple colours
Nor a large jug of brushes, every size
No model to gaze on
No smock or beret
Just…..
Dad's shirt cut off at the sleeves and
Mrs Gorvin, our teacher, on a low chair
Sides spilling over, flesh pink bloomers peeping out
from voluminous skirt hem
Talking slowly and clearly
Important instructions for painting
(Although I’m sure she’d never done any)
Don't make a mess, use ALL the colours
Wash out paintbrush in between!
I listened impatiently,
Eyes darting to the fresh white paper laid out on the desk
I knew what I wanted to paint
I worked at an easel twice my height
Peter Hipkin on his masterpiece the other side
Cheap Paper secured with one large bulldog clip
Paints in solid blocks,
Water in a jar, transforming as the
one thick, unwieldy brush swirled blue and red and yellow
till it merged into a muddy brown
And then, stroke by stroke, there I was, my future secured, a hairdresser complete with high heels and rollers in my hair
Tools and equipment very poor
But a four year old’s imagination? Oh so rich.
And that was surely more than enough?
Thanks for reading...... Jill Reidy Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
