The Emergence of an Artist
Art is essential to artists in the same way that humans require air or water. I never paid much attention to this theory until the night my father died. Shocked and devastated by the news that my father was gone, I paced the hallway of my house after somehow managing to tuck my two young sons into their beds at the end of the worst day of my life. Although I reassured them that everything would be okay, in the back of my mind I knew I was lying.
I finally settled down the hallway and into my bedroom only to find my husband fast asleep, so I journeyed right through the bedroom and into my dressing room. It is there that with perfect animation and without a single thought I sat down in the chair and unfolded a crumbled delicatessen napkin from the trash can next to me. Thoughtlessly, I pulled out a pencil from the dresser drawer and drew my first work of art. It was nothing more than a perfect square, immaculate in its shape and as perfect as my dad. With purpose and without hesitation I drew a single triangle in the lower right quadrant of the square, grabbed a cuticle scissor from the drawer and proceeded to cut the simple triangle out of the perfect square. My anger and grief compelled me to toss it straight into the trash can. To me, this triangle signified the empty place in my heart that was once fulfilled by my father. Looking back, it may seem melodramatic, but all that I could utter to myself was “My perfect world is over because my dad is gone.”
I looked down at the trash can and immediately pulled the triangle back out . I smoothed it vigorously reassuring myself that my father always taught me to me an optimist. He would tell me that, although my life would never be the same, a part of him would always stay with me through the ways I carried out my life with an outlook similar to his own. He would stay with me through the ways in which my three wonderful children mirrored him. My eldest son would mirror his extraordinary kindness, passion and boundless energy. My younger son would follow in his footsteps pursuing a career in dentistry and his humility and gentle demeanor were qualities that were ever present in my father. And in my daughter I would recognize an inheritance of his artistic talents and his passion for life.
And so my first work of art was conceived. I built the piece out of strong solid wood to symbolize his strength. Next, I painted it in Ferrari Rosa Corsa Red– red being a cultural symbol of affection– to symbolize my love for him. But the symbolism behind the color paint I used went deeper; my father had a passion for exotic cars and so by using car paint as a medium, I was honoring something that gave him great joy. Once the work was completed, I hung the large square in our living room and the small seemingly lost triangle on a beam of the living room ceiling.
That was the beginning. The beginning of art’s role in my life as being essential. The beginning of art serving as essential to me in the same way that air and water are essential to humankind. We breath without thought; it is automatic. I do art without thinking; it is instinctual.
Written by Kate Elizabeth Geller as told by Lori Cozen-Geller