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.
What a fascinating journey through the realms of memory, art, and the connection you've painted between the accidental embedding of pencil graphite and a mythic role in the cosmos!
Your story about the pencil incident is not just a funny anecdote; it speaks to the unexpected moments that leave a mark on us, sometimes quite literally.
Your reflections on your earliest encounters with art are so intrinsically you.
It's intriguing how art, in its myriad forms—from the lullabies and rock soundtracks of your childhood to the branding on sweets and the fantastical worlds of graphic novels—has been a constant companion, shaping your perception and emotional landscape.
These experiences, especially the vivid memory of Roerich's cold mountain paintings - which I had to Google as I wasn't familiar with him- highlights how art resonates on a visceral level, connecting us to feelings and sensations that words alone cannot convey.
The idea that every significant encounter with art or even a seemingly trivial incident, like catching a pencil, could assign us a role in an interplanetary mythology is a poetic and captivating thought. It suggests that our lives are filled with moments of beauty, pain, and wonder that contribute to our unique stories and perhaps connect us to a larger, more mysterious narrative.
In a way, your story reminds me to pay attention to the small, seemingly inconsequential moments in life, for as they too are part of our artistic journey.
Thank you for sharing your reflections and memories.
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.”
Beautifully expressed. Change, though painful, acts as a catharsis. Without this discomfort, much of the art we cherish today would not exist.
It's interesting you bring up Tom & Jerry; I have fond memories of watching that cartoon.
I recall viewing it on a black and white television—not because I'm particularly old, but because my grandfather, at the time, couldn't afford a new TV. We only got a colour TV in the early-90s.
I imagine Lisa from Kindergarten wore an enigmatic and wise smile, I hope that was an indication of you being in excellent company.
Thank you, John, for sharing such a personal snippet of your life!
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.
Wow Katri.
What a fascinating journey through the realms of memory, art, and the connection you've painted between the accidental embedding of pencil graphite and a mythic role in the cosmos!
Your story about the pencil incident is not just a funny anecdote; it speaks to the unexpected moments that leave a mark on us, sometimes quite literally.
Your reflections on your earliest encounters with art are so intrinsically you.
It's intriguing how art, in its myriad forms—from the lullabies and rock soundtracks of your childhood to the branding on sweets and the fantastical worlds of graphic novels—has been a constant companion, shaping your perception and emotional landscape.
These experiences, especially the vivid memory of Roerich's cold mountain paintings - which I had to Google as I wasn't familiar with him- highlights how art resonates on a visceral level, connecting us to feelings and sensations that words alone cannot convey.
The idea that every significant encounter with art or even a seemingly trivial incident, like catching a pencil, could assign us a role in an interplanetary mythology is a poetic and captivating thought. It suggests that our lives are filled with moments of beauty, pain, and wonder that contribute to our unique stories and perhaps connect us to a larger, more mysterious narrative.
In a way, your story reminds me to pay attention to the small, seemingly inconsequential moments in life, for as they too are part of our artistic journey.
Thank you for sharing your reflections and memories.
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.”
Beautifully expressed. Change, though painful, acts as a catharsis. Without this discomfort, much of the art we cherish today would not exist.
It's interesting you bring up Tom & Jerry; I have fond memories of watching that cartoon.
I recall viewing it on a black and white television—not because I'm particularly old, but because my grandfather, at the time, couldn't afford a new TV. We only got a colour TV in the early-90s.
I imagine Lisa from Kindergarten wore an enigmatic and wise smile, I hope that was an indication of you being in excellent company.
Thank you, John, for sharing such a personal snippet of your life!