My maternal grandmother, “Grammy” was instrumental in guiding me in the direction of being an artist. She pointed out to my mother that I traced the designs on her flower print dress with my right index finger when I was a baby. Being the first girl to arrive in the George and Kathleen Bishop family in 1951 must have been an excitement for the flower-loving women. Already, Jerry, (9) and Hollis (7) were camping with their Dad and complying with the male-orientated country living agenda in Northern Maine. A baby named “Kristy” had spotted design and was fascinated by it!
Grammy and Mom appreciated art. “Be sure to get art lessons for Kristy as soon as she starts school,” Grammy reminded Mom. Could Grammy have had an inkling that she would not be around to make sure that it happened? Regardless, Mom kept her promise and delivered me to Bessie Higgins, a professional oil painter in Presque Isle, Maine when I was eight years old. It was after Grammy passed away from a fierce battle with cancer. Higgin’s studio was the porch of her home, located 10 miles from our home in Fort Fairfield. She was an accomplished artist who had made her name by getting her artwork juried into shows in Boston, Ma. on a regular basis. After enjoying the smell of oil paint and turpentine that emanated from her studio, I was shown the work that would be shipped out for the next show. This is where I should be, I thought. No more tap dancing lessons in P.I. with Celeste or even ballet that I admired from a distance. My younger sister Vicki and I would sample it all and decide which direction we would take. Or…would we move along with the whims of our fanciful mother? (Side Note: When she took us to the photographic studio for pictures of us – the photographer would ask if he could photograph her! I don’t doubt that this happened – she was beautiful, had style and the money to promote it.)
My mom kept books. Not the financial kind in the early days – scrapbooks. Everything noteworthy had to be kept for prosperity…so all my drawings and paintings were glued or stuffed into 14″ x 18″ scrapbooks. My art teacher was pleased with a portrait of a horse in colored pencil and the portrait of Elizabeth Taylor (subjects I had chosen) but I wanted to paint in oils…that delicious smell that consumed her studio and the brushes I studied in awe. They stood at attention in containers beckoning me to use them.
I was told that I had to draw first, use charcoal, colored pencil, and watercolor before I could advance to the “promised land of oils.” All of this I did until one day I was given a photo of a woman’s face in a magazine. “Draw this, ” she said. I produced the best drawing that I had ever drawn – it looked exactly like the woman! “Today, you will learn how to use watercolor, ” announced Mrs. Higgins.
She mixed the watercolors for me and told me what to do. As I applied it to the paper within the lines of the feminine face. The color and the value were much darker than the woman’s complexion and I was startled to say the least. I was down right horrified! My drawing was ruined…I told my mother that I didn’t want to go back to Mrs. Higgins for anymore classes!
As an art teacher today, I wonder if Mom’s decision was correct in listening to my complaint about one art lesson that failed. (I still have the disastrous painting that was not completed.) In High School, my mom would let me skip school to stay home and paint whenever I wished – which was often during my senior year. “I feel sorry that you don’t like to go to school – It’s such hard work!” she sympathized. (In the past, she had told me how she struggled with the college course in high school.) Over and over, she would write notes to the principal saying that I was sick… until the guidance counselor decided that just maybe I wasn’t sick so much and told me that I wouldn’t graduate if I missed anymore school. His ploy worked. It was true that I had worked very hard to maintain a high average all through high school in hopes that I would be nominated for the National Honor Society but that was dashed when I was caught letting my friend copy my homework for Geometry class…we both were disqualified as a result. I had invented a new theory/answer and I was not going to let my friend take the credit for it when she was called upon to write it out for the class at the front of the room…she didn’t understand it, anyway – so I explained it to the teacher. Mr. McLaughlin was stunned and full of praise for me…but…still, he was correct in sharing our poor moral judgment with the other teachers. My friend and I both regretted what we did. We paid the price for the mistake by not getting nominated.
All of the high school students took an aptitude test to find out what career was best for each one. Mr. Willette, the guidance counselor, showed me the chart afterward. The graph line for art started from the left side of the page and was drawn all the way to the right in red ink while all of the other lines for other occupations were short. Language skills were better than most but it confirmed the fact that I had believed ever since I was six years old. I was an artist. And it was this propensity for art that proved useful in geometry and algebra classes as well. Although I loved English, I could not read one complete book all through school (a story for another day) …I drew and painted every chance I could get.