Childhood Traumas and Artistic Journeys: Rediscovering Enid Blyton and the Power of Early Artistic Influences
A Personal Voyage Through Early Memories, Artistic Encounters, and the Enduring Legacy of Enid Blyton
Picture this: the first day of pre-school at a public school in Madrid, Spain, in the early 1980s. You're there, a tiny figure amid a sea of unfamiliar children. This is your inaugural plunge into the social whirlpool, never having attended daycare.
A mix of nerves and excitement bubbles within you at the prospect of forging new friendships.
Clutched in your hand is a small cake, with a “Pink Panther” showing on the wrapping
making the tables and the expansive room seem even more gigantic. The walls and shelves are adorned with incomprehensible artifacts.
Around you, a cacophony of emotions: some children cry, others play, while a few parents exchange glances of dread. Eventually, every parent, including yours, departs, leaving behind shattered dreams of a nurturing new world when a slightly larger child snatches your cake and, with a pencil, stabs you in the back.
This memory marks my earliest school experience.
I cannot recall anything from my initial period at school that happened before or after that moment, suggesting my initial encounter with the arts - via that pencil- was far from inspiring.
To this day, the pencil tip remains embedded in my back, perhaps signifying that my true calling was in the arts, not the corporate world (despite the protests of the little-man-inside-my-head).
You might wonder, why I'm sharing this story.
The reason is simple: a question that surfaced in my mind upon waking, leading me back to this vivid memory.
"Do you remember the first artwork you were exposed to?" I’m betting very few of us do.
Considering that day in my first classroom and being four years old, my initial artwork encounter could have been music, a book, or a cartoon. However, trauma and the passage of 39 years blur my ability to recall that first experience with art.
It seems reasonable to believe it could have been a lullaby sung by my mother, though I'm uncertain if she ever truly embodied that maternal quality. It could have been an educational cartoon on public television - there were two TV channels in Spain at that time - reflecting Spain's societal transformation in the early '80s after decades of darkness, or perhaps a book. The truth remains elusive.
Curiosity piqued, and I've decided to research, exploring what artistic influences I might have encountered in my first five years of life - I was born in December 1980 - and how these exposures have shaped my appreciation for art and its creators.
Contrary to the narrow definition often found on Google, where "artwork" is synonymous with painting, I believe artwork encompasses any human-made creation intended to communicate an emotion. In my view, every piece of art tells a story, more often than not, rooted in trauma or the quest to overcome it.
Enid Blyton
Having been a precocious reader, I'll begin by examining the influential books of my childhood.
I fondly recall devouring Enid Blyton's works, especially "The Famous Five" and "The Secret Seven." Granted, this took place when I was a bit older.
Blyton's narratives of adventure and friendship, free from adult oversight, sparked envy and intrigue among her young readers, myself included.
Her knack for creating worlds where children ventured independently, solving mysteries and undertaking adventures, highlights her exceptional talent and possibly her own yearning for escape.
Despite criticisms for promoting outdated values and debatable stereotypes, many of them true although they were a product of her time, Blyton's stories are cherished for their imaginative flair, adventurous spirit, and the sheer delight of a well-enjoyed picnic.
Beneath the surface of these captivating tales was a woman who navigated her personal and professional challenges with remarkable tenacity. Blyton reshaped her narrative, both personally and through her writing, creating a persona that connected with millions, even as she contended with personal trials and societal scrutiny for a diverse range of reasons.
Though her legacy is tinged with controversy, it underscores the lasting charm of her stories and the intricate persona of their author.
In today's climate, where the creator's flaws often lead to their work's dismissal, it's doubtful Enid Blyton would have seen a second edition of any of her books. Despite being emotionally reserved and entangled in unconventional personal dynamics, Blyton was pioneering in her approach to career and literary output.
Her private life, marked by complex relationships and personal turmoil, reveals a woman confronting her internal battles while enchanting children across the globe. Despite the controversies shadowing her legacy, Blyton's status as a masterful storyteller endures, her narratives a celebration of childhood wonder and human complexity.
Exercising Personal Agency in the Reading Experience
You might recall, a few years ago, Netflix released "Black Mirror: Bandersnatch," an interactive episode from the renowned and dystopian Black Mirror series.
In my opinion, the execution could have been much better, but that can be part of a different post. This isn't to diminish the effort and labour involved in creating this type of content and media, but it didn’t quite capture the essence of the “Choose Your Own Adventure” book series I was really fond of as a kid.
I started reading this series, in Spanish, by R. A. Montgomery and others in the late '80s.
I remember reading them with a lantern under the blankets when everyone was asleep, eager to discover every angle, every ending, and every loophole in the stories.
Nothing was more thrilling than completing each book and sharing the stories with my younger brother. These series are still going, and to me, they epitomize what a book should offer to those embarking on their first journey of imagination. Children's fiction should spark a reaction, typically leading to excitement and a longing for more, incentivizing kids to read more as they grow older.
“I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.”
― Groucho Marx
These books taught me how to construct narratives and stories, how to forge new endings based on slight changes in choices, and I'm certain they fueled my burgeoning passion for RPG games like Dungeons & Dragons, Lord of the Rings, and many others that later became a critical part of my introspective play as I grew older.
I cannot wait for my son to get his hands on them.
Creating and consuming art is a means to unleash our inner child and confront our unresolved personal traumas, as exemplified by Enid Blyton.
I also believe art also serves as a method to enrich and fill the void we often find ourselves in, grappling with our emotions as we transition from infancy to toddlerhood, and then to childhood.
Throughout the rest of our lives, we continue this exploration, striving to answer the profound question by any art necessary: Who am I?
I wonder if everyone who has a tip of the pencil graphite embedded somewhere on their body is assigned a special role on the scale of (inter)planetary mythology. I was very eager to catch a pencil rolling off the table during class, and ended up saving it from a fall by impeding the inside of my palm with it. Pencil was saved from the fall, neatly hanging with a slight pendulum swing, but in the end the tip, that I just sharpened, was gone — safe inside my hand. I would let the pencils roll off the table from then on.
I get very lost when I try to remember my first encounter with art. There was music, my mom’s lullabies and dad’s driving soundtrack of russian heroin rock. Branding of the imported sweets packaging, “Nuts” chocolate bars and tiny yoghurt cups packaged in snappy fours. But mostly books and old-school animations. Thin graphic-novel style publications with elaborate illustrations, hand-drawn and each of their own fantasy world, mixing folk tails and myths and nature into stories where calves beat their hooves and produce gemstones, where girls wear dresses that weave themselves with flowers, and summer is alive and may decide not to arrive.
I have a video recording of myself around age 3, watching old Ariel cartoon and saying “oh, I also want to kiss like that”.
My first “serious” memory of experiencing art is going to a museum with my Mom and Grandmother, entering a small white room and feeling very cold, because the walls were covered in Roerich’s mountain paintings. I would assume, because of that experience I am very easily disappointed whenever I visit an exhibition and don’t feel something in my body.
Isn’t it funny that at the end of the day, the pencil in the back is something to be grateful for? All beauty is born from change, all change is painful.
Despite Groucho frowning at me, my first encounter with art was Tom & Jerry. I think I unknowingly related to Jerry. I was a small, dark kid, I barely spoke the language of my surroundings, I would stay in my little hole in the wall watching cartoons.
Jerry was smart, may be a little mean at times, but I think one must be dangerous to survive. I wanted to be smart like that, I would sit on the sofa and try to count as high as I could, I remember thinking to myself “one day I will count to a thousand thousands”. I also wanted to be very fast, like Jerry, so I kept asking my parents for new sneakers, because new sneakers make you run faster.
The first piece of fine art I encountered was the meme of all art “Mona Lisa”. My grandad told me about DaVinci and what a genius he was. I just thought to myself, that “Lisa sure looks like the lady from the kindergarten canteen.”