And it’s back to the blog…
I finished my goal of writing a novel of 50,000 words before the end of November. And now, I can return to the writing of the blog. I’ve missed the blog and am excited to get back in the saddle. For those of you even remotely curious about the novel, it is terrible and depressed me by the end. But, I finished and feel that the exercise of writing about one thing daily and sticking with it was very, very good for me. So, go me!
Today, Eileen and I managed to fulfill another long-discussed goal: We visited the Hubei Art Institute. We’ve been meaning to get there and ask about taking drawing classes for a couple of months now, really. Today, not only did we find the Institute, but we also signed up for a class and we start next Thursday.
The taxi dropped us off in front of the sign for the Institute and behind this sign was a small supply store. We walked in, immediately drawn to the smell and feel of the place. As we looked at all of the supplies and materials for making art, I blurted out, “Can you smell that? It smells like art in here!” We felt like we were finally home. A squat, older lady with yellow tinged hair and lots of make-up walked up to us from behind the counter in the center of the shop and said, “Ni hao, Ni hao.” Waiting to see if we could process this information, she looked unblinkingly on until we replied, “Ni hao.” Once we said hello, she was off. All I caught was “shen me”, which means what, or maybe which in the right context. I told her we were there to have a little look and she smiled and returned to her post behind the counter.
The shop was an open-air collection of shelves and counters, pushed to the side in a large lobby of the first building on the Institute’s campus. The rest of the lobby was dark and deserted. A wide flight of stairs leading up to who-knows-what mysterious facilities was cordoned off with a red velvet rope. The door to a room on the other side of the lobby was ajar and inside we could see a large wooden-lacquer conference table with various Chinese art artifacts lying about. The rest of the building looked extremely empty and off-limits so we kept our focus on the supply shop, getting our bearings, and enjoying the presence of so many lovely materials.
The owner or manager of the shop kept following us around curiously. A couple of times he asked if there was anything in particular we were looking for. I kept saying we were just having a look until he tried to strike up a conversation. He asked if we were French. We told him we were American and liked art. He asked something undecipherable. I tried replying that we wanted to find the administration office, but not knowing the word for admin, I used the word for company. He scratched his head and joyfully replied, “Ting bu dong” – a phrase I’m usually employing, which means, “I hear you but don’t understand your meaning”. It is usually said to me when I try to speak Chinese. People hear the words coming out of my mouth but don’t understand what I’m TRYING to say. Eileen and I were just about to leave the shop and head off in search of an admin building when a delightful young woman approached us and said with impeccable English, “Can I be of service to you?” We told her that we wanted to take a drawing class once a week at the Institute; that we had some training and therefore mostly wanted to be among other students, practicing our craft. She seemed delighted and said she would help us figure something out. We then made our introductions. The perky lady with the makeup from before called out from behind her post that she wanted to know our names. I did my most cheerful and tone-correct “Wo jiao Li Li” and she giggled with delight at my attempts and earnest attention to the tones. Eileen followed me with, “Wo jiao Ai Lin” and the woman hollered back, “Li Li and Hai Ni”, which I don’t suppose I have to tell you sounds like “heinie”. Eileen tried again with, “Ai Li Yen” and this time the woman got a better approximation of Eileen’s name. The lovely helper we met told us her name is Julia. She’s been a graphic designer for 12 years and is beginning drawing lessons at the Institute next week. She called the teacher, but he didn’t answer so she took us to the drawing building.
It was raining pretty hard today and we sloshed through the puddles and mud, around the building that held the supply shop and along a tree-lined back road to a trash-filled courtyard. Mud was everywhere. I slipped along, trying to keep up with Julia. We made it to the bottom of a seven storey peach-painted concrete building. At the entrance to the building, which I think we entered from the back, there was more trash and mud and dirt. Julia mentioned the dirtiness, and all I could think was that the arts always had a bum wrap when it came to facilities, be it in China or America – for the most part. Julia then told us that the drawing department was on the seventh floor. We started up the flights of stairs, the other stories looking to be empty or abandoned. Up up up, we made it to the seventh floor right during several classes. One thing I love about China is the seemingly informal nature of so many activities, which would be supremely formal in the US.
All three of us were out of breath when Julia introduced us to Teacher Jiang. He had flowy gray-flecked long black hair and was wearing a black leather jacket and moved his lips just enough to catch the glint of a full set of braces along his top and bottom teeth. Julia worked out the details with us – how often we wanted to come to class, what day of the week, for how long, how many classes we were interested in, and then negotiated with Teacher Jiang. At first, he seemed supremely unimpressed with us, as if he wasn’t interested in the trouble we might cause. Julia did a superb job translating for us. We were two English teachers with art backgrounds from the United States. We wanted to come and draw once a week at the Institute. We’d prefer an evening class for about two hours each session and wanted to start out with ten sessions. Then Teacher Jiang said that we’d have to show him our drawing skills. At first, we thought it was some kind of test, but Eileen continues to assure me that it is only to determine what level of class we should be sitting in on. I’m inclined to agree with her but will be sorely disappointed if my drawing skills have fallen so far by the wayside that I’m kicked out of my first Chinese drawing lesson.
After Teacher Jiang grudgingly welcomed us for 300 kuai (this will buy us 10 lessons – which comes to about $3.75 US per lesson), Julia took us to have a look around the studios. There were three large classes going on when we arrived. In one room, students swaddled in floor-length down coats, sat huddled together on small stools with drawing boards in their laps, carefully working out the plans for a still life containing fruit and a Pepsi bottle. In another room, the drawings were focused on the bust of a roman-looking male with gorgeous stylized curls on his head. The smell of the rooms and the earnest diligence of the students made me yearn for art school. I definitely missed out on the kind of experience I was witnessing in these rooms. Industrial Design was always all over the map. Drawing is fluid and direct. You never lose sight of what it is that you’re trying to perfect. I’m so excited about these classes and Eileen and I are terribly pleased with ourselves for having finally gone through the motions. Of course, without Julia, we’d have stayed in that little shop for another twenty minutes, wondering exactly how to go about solving our search for drawing classes.
I’m happy to report, on my first day back to the blog, that I’ve managed to continue crafting a life for myself here in China. The weather’s been getting colder and work has gotten very difficult, but that doesn’t mean that my life outside had to be without its perks. I plan on drawing away any fears or insecurities or disappointments each week. And, now I’m thinking I might need to sign up for classes twice a week!
