Thinking about Elementary school is a lot like losing a suitcase off the back of a speeding truck. The memories are scattered behind, some taken with the wind,
others lay splat where they fell along the road.
In fifth grade my teacher was the highly coveted Mrs. Parkes , who later became Mrs. Matt…however I am allowed to call her Alexis now, which makes me feel every bit of way too old.
I remember her as fun, pretty and having a wonderful laugh. She recently came to visit me in my studio and memory served correct she is all that and more!
Fifth grade was the start of separate boy/girl classes for “Health ” education thus it is an immense blur of tampon whispers, and armpit hair discussions. Because of this I don’t remember much else about fifth grade.
I never thought I was particularly special in elementary school, It wasn’t until Junior High when I started getting weird, that I recognized the value in myself. (inventing clothing systems, praying to imaginary pets, sleeping in the closet, playing the penny whistle with my nose )
That is why I was so shocked and humbled and honored when I reconnected with My long lost Mrs Parkes /Matt /Alexis and she remembered who I was.
But Not only did she remember who I was. SHE HAD SAVED MY ARTWORK! For almost 30 years. I kid you not, I haven’t even saved my own artwork from the 5th grade. This really moved me.
Thinking about how many students she has had over the years and how special it made me feel that she saw something in ME when I was just ten years old, even before I new I was off beat to my own drummer.
I was curious to see if those drawings would reveal any secrets. Other than my given name, before I had it legally changed to my initials.
Analyzing my own 5th grade artwork:
I think this is a mouse? I think maybe this is a boy mouse. Or that “health”class had an effect on the way I draw mouse feet.
The most important thing about this drawing is that it insinuates that somewhere, just off the corner of the page a bunch of little mice are laughing. That is something I consider when I am drawing…what is happening just off the page. Like the drawing is just a window to a larger world. If there is a control freak in me ( and I think it is fair to say there is) She loves the control of dictating what part of the scene to draw. I didn’t realize I must have always done that.
Apparently I loved April fools day even when I was 10. And I apparently I have been conveying that things are “funny” the same exact way for 30 years, with Groucho Marx glasses and “kick me” signs.
This image hangs on my studio door TODAY! it shows a little fairy being “funny” with a “kick me” sign on a girl in a coconut pie dress. This is all kind of peculiar when cross referenced with
This drawing that my old roommate just sent me from when I was 24. You can clearly see deconstructed Groucho Marx glasses and a cake dress.
I had no idea these were themes in my life. Im like a two trick pony of desserts and glasses. You can imagine my relief when the next thing I saw was a straight up horned owl.
Simply a lovely 10 year old drawn owl. It’s fine. I applaud my own normalness. I mean…maybe if you look closely you could see a budding fascination with mammaries…Or no, it’s just a sweet lovely owl. So very normal.
AND THEN…I recognize myself. This is how I know just who I am…even though I hadn’t figured out exactly what my name was ….This picture. If I had this thought today I would probably have drawn it the same way.
Let me describe what I think is going on here and why its so important . This is a turkey. The turkey is drooling because we drool over turkey. So the turkey is drooling over itself. But it can’t see itself drooling, all it sees is a puddle. So this turkey comes waddling along and sees a puddle and thinks “WTF?” ( symbolized appropriately with the ? ) See I would have thought this was funny, despite urgings from the masses. But I was thinking about what a turkey thinks is confusing. This is the beginning of “what things think”. And I have been drawing that obsessively for years now.
For instance This drawing “Bitch Slut” has to do with what clothes think of each other, behind the closet doors.
Is it slightly inappropriate to call your 5th grade teacher a Party animal? Maybe?
Do I put Lederhosen on everything? Yes!
Do cakes ever really have icing that drips over the side? Not so much.
People often ask about when I started drawing, and if I was always good at it. The truth to that answer sounds like fake humble. But these are evidence. I was no prodigy or savant. I don’t think I was particularly good at it. On a scale between DaVinci and the smear left over on your plate after dinner. My art was somewhere in the middle.
I just loved to draw, to explore my inner world using a paper window.
I have drawn the conclusions: That growing up is a practice in which you become more, or less yourself depending on which way you turn. I feel more myself than ever, and a glimpse into the past was a real sweet validation of that. I am forever Grateful for the wonderful teacher I had In Fifth grade. She was so patient, kind and encouraging. I can only imagine how many lives she has touched in the same way, people who grew to live authentic in their days because they were inspired by her.
