"Letter" #3

There were four paintings in Alex’s letter. One was a copy of the photograph I had sent him. He said, in slightly broken English:
“ The portrait of Cliff Clipps and myself was very difficult to made. I did it four times to make it and the fifth one has been successful. But I am trying best to know better the water colors.”
Unfortunately there was a crease down the middle where it had been folded to fit in the envelope. I made a mental note to tell him not to do this in future. It was surprisingly accomplished, and the attention to detail was astonishing. Even though the use of paint showed inexperience, the overall effect was strong. In any case what was lacking would come in time, with practice and my guidance. I was impressed with this painting, especially at Alex’s perseverance; I mean, five attempts.
The other paintings were simple village scenes, and all but one showed real strength in composition, color and skill with materials. Later in the letter Alex wrote:
“I am spending all my time studying art, you know here there is nothing to work on, so art is my everything and in art I am having all hope to success and I will make it. I started painting shop doors and windows. As of now I have painted three shops and do lettering too. I have not been successful this time since I sold postcards to the mzungus (white people), no mzungus have arrived.”

"Letter" #2

In the parcel I had sent Alex there was a set of water colours, some good quality brushes, drawing paper, watercolor paper and a folder with plastic sleeves that contained reproductions of etchings by Rembrandt and drawings by Van Gogh and Matisse, so that he could begin to appreciate, and learn from the great masters of Western art. In addition, there was a copy of Johannes Itten’s colour wheel, and a sheet of my teaching notes, entitled The Elements of Visual Art and Four Principles of Composition. I had also included a photo of him standing side by side with Cliff Clipps, looking vibrant and handsome, with broad smiles showing off bright white teeth that shone magnificently against rich warm chocolate color of their faces. Whenever I looked at this photograph, which was pinned to my studio wall, I was amazed at the bright, happy energy it gave off; the great souls of these two young men, as they stood swelled with pride in front of the camera. In the letter I sent with the parcel I suggested that it might be a good exercise to make a painting from this photograph.

"Letter" #1

I received a letter from Alex today. According to the post mark it had taken almost a month to arrive, giving me an idea of the distance it had travelled, from Ruarwe village on the remote northern shore of Lake Malawi, to the capital city of the UK. He said he had received my parcel safely.

“I am happy as never before. The gifts of water colors, brushes, papers and portfolio you have sent me really excite me, much that I don’t know how to thank you. It’s the first time to receive such gifts, and even to use watercolors and such beautiful brushes. May God Bless You”.

Knowing he had received the parcel gave me a warm glow, and I saw him in my mind dancing barefoot on the sand, shouting with excitement, as I had seen him do before when he had just won a big game of bao; and again the last time I saw him, as I looked back from the boat the day I left Ruarwe. He was with Cliff Clipps, the money I’d given him for paints pressed into his hand; dancing and shouting, so excited he forgot to wave goodbye.

"Canoe Trip" #4

I looked around to find Alex lying on his back, with his hands behind his head and legs akimbo; resting his feet on either end of the paddle that was laid crossways on the canoe. I had to laugh. It would have made a good drawing, and I wasn’t sure if I should have been drawing him instead. But it was a shame that in the excitement of the moment I forgot to take a photograph.

A couple of young boys, with nothing better to do than to satisfy their curiosity, paddled out in a canoe to see what we were up to. Alex seized the opportunity and asked them to position themselves so I could include them in the drawing. I wanted to capture the dramatic, head on perspective of the canoe as it came towards us, but we drifted and the moment passed, so I had to settle for a side on view that allowed me to add some detail to the boys, but I was disappointed at missing the opportunity of a more dynamic composition. My energy was all but used up, and as concentration levels fell I realised how stiff my back and shoulders were. One cheek of my rear end had gone completely numb. I put down the pencil and pad, lifted and rolled my shoulders, stretched out my back, and stretched out my legs. I was done. When we got ashore, as we hauled the canoe up the beach something gave way in my lower back, and a deep spasm of pain ran close to the spine on the left side. I pretended to lift but my strength was gone. A fisherman came to help. I straighten up, but knew something was wrong. ‘It isn’t that bad, just give it a few days and you’ll be fine’, I said to myself reassuringly, as I walked stiffly up the beach and sat down on the sand to recover from the shock.

"Canoe Trip" #3

An oblique gash ran across the upper face of the large boulder, where at some point an impact had occurred, splintering a piece off. I let my eye guide my hand, taking only furtive glances at where the pencil was going. The edge of the canoe cut in to me and was getting painful to sit on. In a race against dwindling endurance I tried not to waste a single mark. With the complexity of rocks on the shoreline, drawn, I moved on to the buildings and vegetation. I remembered how Pierre Bonnard had used a pencil in his small sketches to create textures that vibrated with light. As I struggled to find marks to describe the variety and intensity of the textures, I began to understand how drawing and painting crossed paths in the texture of marks, and how to render colour using just a pencil. I had discovered something, and though the lesson was complete the drawing was still far from finished. The buildings sat haphazardly within the undulating rhythm of the land; their silver-grey grass roofs: slanting, mismatched parallelograms, with the feeling they jostled for space amongst the vegetation. Gradually, the subtleties came into place, and the drawing achieved solidity and depth.

Canoe Trip #2

We arrived opposite a hamlet of huts nestled in amongst trees and tall grass. On the shore a large boulder punctuated an interconnected chain of rocks and stones, like the centerpiece in a, rough-hewn necklace.  A small beach lay shrouded in overhanging trees. Five different varieties of tree could be counted in the view as a whole, each with its own distinct foliage and shade of green. But all were darkened by comparison to emerald green hills, sweeping up to the pale, ethereal blue sky.

 I lifted my paddle and pointed.

“This looks good,” I said, and Alex laid down his paddle, moved forward to the middle of the canoe and squatted down to get a grip on the large rock we had brought with us for an anchor. As he struggled to lift it the canoe tipped violently over to one side. Then he seemed to summon up all his strength and, with one deft motion lifted the rock up onto the edge of the canoe and let it plunge, with rope running after it into the oily dark water. The canoe drifted but, as Alex pulled  the slack out of the rope, it moved back to into position over where the anchor was weighed. At last, with the rope pulled tight the canoe tilted slightly to one side and came to rest. Getting organised to do a drawing of the view in front of me was a ritual that ended with a well sharpened a pencil. I scanned the subject until I had captured its essential features in my mind before starting. The canoe drifted and skewed about. Alex paddled, trying to straighten it out. I shifted around and no matter how much I tried, couldn’t get comfortable, so I settled for a position that seemed least likely to cause capsize.

"Canoe Trip" #1

The canoe was a big one which according to Alex would be more stable in the water. For an anchor we tied a large rock to a length of rope. The rock had to be heavy enough to anchor the canoe in one place, and not so heavy as to sink it. As we struggled to lift it, the margin between the two seemed pretty slim. With the help of the fisherman, who had kindly lent us his canoe and paddles for free, we dragged the canoe down the beach and launched it into the Lake. I climbed in first and Alex climbed in behind and pushed off. The canoe drifted away from the shore and began to rock. This continued until I got more stability by wedging my feet firmly against the sides of the canoe, and just dipping the tip of the paddle into the water. As we got into a rhythm the canoe sped up, and an image flickered before my eyes, like an old Super 8 movie, of Alex and myself in the future, in our own canoe travelling from village to village along the Lakeshore.

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