I've always felt a certain resentment towards artists.
They prance about in their funky clothes talking about how their subconscious was aroused by the symbolism inherent in that colour combination, while getting grants to evolve their creativity or millions of dollars for painting stripes on a canvas.
The worst, though, is that even if they're dirt poor - as is sadly the case for many wonderful artists - it's still cool. The average person cannot get a degree in accounting, marine biology or political science and still hold their head high while they deliver pizza. Being a struggling artist, on the other hand, is not only acceptable, it's a huge part of the culture of art - they're walking in the footsteps of van Gogh, Chagall and, closer to home, Allen Sapp.
Although I'd much rather live like Nina Hamnett, Queen of Bohemia, I've always wished I could discover my inner creativity - without getting people upset about a fictional sheep farm.
When I saw the Chapel Gallery would be accepting submissions for the Transmitting Light exhibit, I knew this was my ticket to discovering my inner artist, while simultaneously catapulting myself to fame. My window display would have sparkly stuff and and okay, maybe I needed some inspiration.
So I enrolled in one of the Chapel Gallery's workshops, taught by local artist Oriol Dancer. Wow, what a name, I thought. It made me think of the Northern Lights dancing in the sky, but it also made me think I needed a good name to be an artist. Tara Scaglione just wouldn't cut it. Since 'Tara' means 'star' in Nepali, I toyed with a few starry ideas before finally settling on Stara Sparklescag.
Unfortunately, when I arrived at the Chapel Gallery, curator Michael Brokop had already told the class 'Tara from the newspaper' was coming. Stara Sparklescag will have to wait for another day.
I'm not sure why I expected differently, but I was surprised at the warmth and friendliness that greeted me upon entering. Everyone was busy in the various stages of preparing pulp for the paper we were going to make, but as we crossed paths, everyone was quick to introduce themselves. I was also surprised to learn I was the only one from North Battleford, as the rest had travelled from surrounding communities to take part in the class.
Preparing pulp is not as easy as it seems. First you have to soak the cotton linten in water and pull it apart with your hands. Cotton linten is really thick, soft paper. I think you have to be an artist to understand why someone would take perfectly good paper, soak it in water, rip it apart, blend it up, dip a wire mesh into the mixture, pull it out, sponge out the water and set it out to dry, all to make paper.
I was puzzled over this myself, until I realized that it wasn't about making paper, it was about making art. Dancer had brought an assortment of leaves, petals, pine cones and other bits of nature we could use for our masterpieces.
She also informed us we didn't necessarily have to use linten to make paper, there are a number of other plant materials that work and you can even make paper out of moose and elk droppings. I was starting to like this Oriol Dancer more and more. Now I know exactly what paper to use when I write my break up letters (don't worry, my boyfriend doesn't read much).
Pulling the wire mesh (called a mould) through the pulp turned out to be the most difficult part. I wasn't sure if I was getting too much pulp or too little, and the way the pulp swirled in the water made it difficult to make an even page.
"It can never be too thick or too thin," said Dancer, pausing as she looked over my shoulder. "Well maybe," she added with a smile.
But I didn't mind taking my time, as I figured it would be good practice for when I go to the Yukon to pan for gold.
The afternoon went by altogether too quickly, as dipping my hands in the cool water while the warm sunshine streamed through the windows of the art room made it the best Saturday I've had in a long time, especially when good conversation was thrown in.
I made round paper and square paper, thin paper and thick paper and paper that smelled of pine needles. I even made a voodoo rattle with dried poppy and paper and corn silk. I hope my cat appreciates the most artistic toy he'll ever play with.
The best part was how everyone went around, admiring each other's work, each unique and beautiful in its own way.
I'm not sure if I'm any closer to my window display and resulting career as a famous artist, but I do know that art isn't just for artists, it's for anyone who still remembers how much fun it was to sculpt the perfect mud pie or colour all over the living room wall; it's for anyone who wants to let go and daydream with their hands.
I also know that the Chapel Gallery hosts the best workshops, ever.
