"Color Wheel" by molrak.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/molrak/468021613/
Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0.
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See this earlier memory for the backstory:
http://www.singaporememory.sg/contents/SMA-b525453c-4c91-4f8d-b363-457b34927665
In Sec Sch, I enjoyed my art lessons the best. I had a natural flair for drawing. Plus, my secret 'weapon' was a weekly advanced Fine Arts lessons three years prior to my attending Sec Sch. My parents enrolled me in a weekly Fine Arts class when I was in Pri Sch.
Cikgu Rahim was my Sec 1 art teacher. He was also the teacher-in-charge of the Art Club for the first two years of my Sec Sch life (he relinquished the role in my year 3, perhaps to focus on the school soccer team?).
As my friend Adrian mentioned in his memory (http://www.singaporememory.sg/contents/SMA-11c13b96-8e4d-4e0c-9ddc-dfabf6027e49) I remember vividly how Mr Rahim would unabashedly praise my art work in front of everyone. Then he would tack my art pieces on the board for all to see and emulate.
BUT while I enjoyed the lavish praise of Cikgu Rahim, my art-experience in Sec Sch started terribly. Mr Rahim rejected my first ever art work submitted for our first art lesson.
I even think (if I recall rightly) he might have torned up my work in front of me!
We had to paint a colourwheel (see the attached example). It was basic training in understanding about primary and secondary colours. I mentioned earlier that I had an "unfair advantage" from prior Fine Arts training since Pri 3. By the time I reached Sec 1, my relative proficiency in art was akin to Adrian being able to control the football like second nature (I could barely dribble). The years of practice made a difference.
The colour wheel assignment was child's play (toddler level, even). Or so I thought. Perhaps it was that overconfidence that doomed my art-relationship with Cikgu Rahim to a shaky start.
With such a simple task, my mind wandered and I painted the wheel in a watercolour style (my forte then) without considering what was really required. I did put my heart in it. Just that I didn't apply my brains. My colour wheel's segments overlapped and bled into each other. Great if I was painting an overcast sky. But the wash technique, combined with my stingy use of poster paints, made for a crappy piece of work.
I remember quite vividly a sense of shock. I handed in my artwork confidently. Only to be rejected with contempt by Mr Rahim. It received a fail grade: less than 5 out of 10 marks.
He might even have thrown my work on the floor or torn it up (perhaps my memory of that incident has been embellished with time, but I recall Mr Rahim as a teacher with the dramatics).
What followed was me feeling sad.
It didn't occur to me, at that point, what I did wrong. As I mentioned, I had put my heart into the work. What then worried me was that I could no longer look forward to my favourite subject in the world. Having failed my first lesson, my art teacher had thought very poorly of me.
How was I going to face Cikgu Rahim and survive art lessons for the next two years?
I seem to have the impression I simply hunkered down, paid closer attention during art class (rather than take for granted). I applied my heart and brains to it.
And gradually (and it was really a gradual process), I think Mr Rahim saw that I wasn't such a shoddy artist after all. Then he started to use my art pieces as demonstration works. Then in Sec 3 or 4, my painting was even presented to the school's VIP.
Adrian remembered me bring praised by Mr Rahim in art class. But I don't think Adrian would have recalled how I had to work my way back towards Mr Rahim's grace, so to speak :)
SIDE-MEMORY:
BTW, if you thought I was having a fantastic time being showered with my Cikgu Rahim's praise, truth was I always felt rather embarrassed. Especially if he did so in front of my classmates. I hated to be in the limelight especially when the atmosphere in art class (then) tended to be rather hostile.
Most of my Sec 1 classmates could not draw if their lives depended on it (with what I know today, I wouldn't say they weren't talented but that the instructions did not match their skills and training). Our school, while a mixed-gender one, segregated the boys and girls in Sec 1 to 2. I mentioned this to let you imagine teaching an all-boys class on the finer point of art. I suppose back in those days, art class was like trying to fit square pegs (the students) into round holes.
Whenever Mr Rahim praised my art work, I've always felt secretly pleased at being his favourite student in art class. But I also feared that the more he continued, the higher the level of anger class mates would direct at me. One time, I even found (rather sadly) that my art piece was torned down from the board, thrown on the floor and with visible shoe prints on them.
But no, I was never beaten up. Apart from that one vandalised drawing, most of my classmates genuinely liked what I produced. Years later, they tend to remember me (as Adrian did) as the student who could draw and was in Cikgu Rahim's good books. At least for art class.
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Please attribute to: "Ivan Chew, MyRightBrain.wordpress.com".
