This One Time, In High School
Posted on 2004-05-05
I remember an art class I had at school when I was a teenager, where we were divided into groups and a leader was appointed. Each group was given a large sheet of paper and a photograph to copy, and the leader of the group was to observe what each member drew on that sheet of paper. Then later, at the end of the class, the leader was to report his or her observations to the rest of the students.
I don't remember exactly how old I was at the time; I'm guessing about thirteen or fourteen. I remember the other people in my group were enjoying themselves, one of them drawing the main country cottage, others adding scenery or people, whilst I sat back and watched for a while, unsure of what I could add to the picture.
Then I leaned forward and with hesitating brush strokes I started to draw the outline of a tree. It was rather faint I admit, as I'm not a very good artist. That was it, that was my contribution. A very faint outline of a tree to the side of the page.
When our group leader gave her commentary, everyone else in my team, other than myself, got mentioned. I felt left out, and was self-consious in case the others realised that as well. I felt that I hadn't contributed anything, but I also realised that my contribution was very small. So small in fact, that it was hardly worth mentioning.
That's how I've lived my life for a long time, and even now, to a certain degree I would rather observe. I was content being the odd one out. I didn't want attention focused on me. Making bold statements wasn't my style. Maybe in my own way I was hiding, afraid to be found out, afraid of what others might see.
Maybe the story of the 'tree' means nothing, but it must mean something to my sub-conscious I guess, because even today those images reappear in my head every so often, if only to highlight how little I'm still contributing to the world.