A GUARDIAN OF THE ROAD BEGINS TO DRAW-BLOG POST #5-Kathryn Lehotsky
I was four months shy of seven years old and entering the second grade when I really began to draw. I often doodled on the back of my homework papers from school, but I’d never really tried to depict something tangible using my only available tool, a pencil. In West Virginia during that period, art was not taught in schools other than as a supplement to a geography lesson. So if a kid wanted to learn to draw or paint, they were on their own to explore the art.
Not having paper I could use to draw on was my earliest obstacle. No printer paper was lying about that I could use because no one had a home printer then. I thought of asking my father but decided he’d need to know why I wanted the paper, and I was not ready to reveal my compulsion to draw at that point. I finally settled on sneaking the brown paper grocery bags my mother stored in a hall closet to use as my practice paper. I had child-sized scissors, crayons, and two pencils in my school bag. I used the scissors to cut the bags into manageable squares so I could better use them to draw on, but I had no way to sharpen my pencils. I finally got the nerve to ask my father if we could have a pencil sharpener at home, so I’d have a way to be ready for school each day. I later learned that my second-grade teacher had a pencil sharpener mounted on her desk. The problem with this option was that I’d have to walk up to her desk in front of all the other children to sharpen my pencils. I knew what would happen if I did that, so I never sharpened my pencils at school.
My father, Bob, was very handy and told me he could fix almost anything except automobiles. Since he was a chemical engineer, that must’ve helped him to a degree. I later learned he grew up helping his grandfather make furniture, which was his passion and hobby. As a kid, Bob could always be found in his grandfather’s woodshop, learning to work with wood to create something useful or beautiful.
One morning, not long after I'd made my request, I went into the hall closet to get a grocery bag. I saw that he’d mounted a metal pencil sharpener outside the door jamb. I was short for my age, so I wondered how I would reach it since it was high off the floor. Then I looked down and saw that someone had placed a small step stool made from old wood boards and nails. I remember thinking that my father must’ve made it for me. I also learned later why he’d mounted the sharpener that high... so my three-year-old brother, Rob, wouldn’t cut his fingers by accident. After that discovery, I always had sharpened pencils for school and, better yet, for my clandestine drawing attempts.
I hid my practice ‘art papers’ under my bed. I am not sure why I did this, but most artists are sensitive about showing their work for fear of criticism. I still am today. Not long after we moved into our new house, my mother hired a ‘cleaning lady’ known to me only as Mrs. White. Mrs. White came every Friday and helped Mom clean our house, wash and iron lots of laundry, and sometimes prepare food. And as our household grew with more children, she was an invaluable help to my mother for years. Mrs. White must’ve found the art practice papers under my bed when she cleaned the room since I saw them stacked neatly on my bed when I came home from school one day. I waited for someone to say something about the drawings on sheets of brown paper since I had a significant stack of work by then. But no one mentioned them. Eventually, I found a cardboard box with a lid, stored my drawings in the box, then hid them in the back of my closet.
On my birthday a month later, my parents presented me with a thick binder of white cotton paper, bound at the edges and with a thick blue cover. On the cover were the words: Artist's Journal. It was the best present ever, and I was thrilled. Later, my mother said that she had looked through the stack of artwork on my bed and was so impressed that she showed them to my father. Together, they decided to try to find a way for me to obtain art lessons from an art teacher or maybe even a professional artist. But first, they ordered the Journal so I’d have ‘proper’ drawing paper.
Mom soon learned that a woman who’d recently moved to St. Albans would offer art classes for children 6-16 years old. Her name was Julia Zvargolis, and she’d recently immigrated from Hungary after the Communist takeover there. Miss Zvargolis was renting a small house next to the church that sponsored her immigration to the United States. I quickly learned to pronounce her first name as Youlia, but I still don’t know how to spell her last name correctly. I tried researching Hungarian last names but could not find it. So in this blog, I have spelled it phonetically. Remember, I was six/seven at the time.
My mother took me to St. Albans to meet Julia at her home. (I am guessing now, but I think Julia was about 30 years old). I still remember my first impression of her. Julia wore a simple cotton dress, a white apron tied at the back of her neck, and black flat slippers. She told us that, before the war, she’d been a well-known portrait artist in her home country. I assumed that Julia had never been married. However, I did learn that she worked as an art instructor in the Hungarian pre-college system, preparing art students for work as architects, designers, and college art instructors.
I do not remember saying much that day because I was so in awe of the woman. She was undoubtedly beautiful with dark reddish-brown hair, a fair complexion devoid of make-up, and taller than most women but wispy thin. Julia spoke English fluently but had an Eastern European accent that I had trouble understanding for a while. My mother showed her some of my best drawings, and by the end of our visit, Julia agreed to take me on as a student. I studied art with Julia Zvargolis for about eight years. Although I ended up being the editor of my high school newspaper and a good student in public school, my mother claimed I excelled in my art classes from Julia Zvargolis.
For several months, Julia only allowed me to use a pencil to do my practice drawings. I will never forget why she felt I had to wait to use colored pencils or paint. She often told me that if I could not draw with a pencil accurately…I would not be able to paint with a brush accurately. First, she said, I must learn to draw by recreating what I saw, not what I thought I saw. And that I should study each subject as if I had never seen it before.
One of her most valuable lessons involved analyzing shapes. I was to mentally divide my subjects into straight lines, angles, and curves but not worry about details until the outline was complete. For example, a human or animal had a circle for a head, a rectangle for a body, two oval limbs for arms, and two elongated ovals for legs. The arms and feet were curved shapes.
The next step was the most important of her lessons. I was to focus on my subject using my eyes to slowly follow the exterior outline of the piece in question and simultaneously replicate what I was seeing on my paper using my pencil. Drawing blind, she called it. Early on, my drawings would often be almost unrecognizable, but in time and with lots of practice, drawing without looking at my paper became second nature. Eventually, she allowed me to check my drawing against the subject as I moved my pencil on the paper. Soon, the end result was identifiable. I still use that technique today when I draw. I always draw my subjects with a pencil before I paint them using a brush. The process sounds easy when I write this, but it wasn’t easy when I began to draw using these instructions as a kid.
Over time, I drew figures, portraits, and, best of all….animals. Julia encouraged me to paint what I love most but to always try to challenge myself to work on more challenging goals. I have never been that good at drawing or painting human figures or faces, but I have gotten pretty good at depicting animals of all kinds.
Back then, it was hard for me to draw from memory, so Julia would find photos in magazines, newspapers, and books. I would use them as references. With her guidance, I began to use colored pencils to create my work. Through the years, she taught me the difference between cool versus warm colors, color mixing, shading, dimension, and perspective. We became friends in a way. I was comfortable with Julia; she seemed comfortable with me and the other students in her classes. Many kids my age took lessons for a while and then didn’t return. But many like me stayed and absorbed all that she was able and willing to share.
When I was entering my junior year in high school, Julia encouraged me to try my hand at sculpture. She bought some modeling clay and told me to ‘create something’ with it. It surprised me that I enjoyed sculpting with clay, as I’d never had the opportunity to work with that medium. My best sculpture turned out to be a winner and would propel me into an entirely new world that began to change my life from that point on. Down the road, I’ll tell you that story.
I applied to college early in my senior year, and Julia wrote a glowing letter recommending me. I wish I still had it today, as that letter helped me get admitted into a top School of Art and Design, which was not easy to do. I owe her my deepest gratitude and will be forever indebted to Julia for teaching me to draw and paint and what it means to be an artist.
I do not know what happened to her since we drifted apart once I left for school. I still feel bad about that. Why hadn’t I taken the time to write her or have my mother see how she was doing? After my sophomore year in college, I borrowed my mother’s car and drove to her house in St. Albans.
Someone else lived there because young children ran in and out of Julia’s house. I could see a mother-type figure standing at the door, watching the children as she stirred something in a bowl she held. I should’ve asked her about Julia, but it seemed apparent that she no longer lived there. I wish I’d been able to find her, but life started to move faster for me, and I hope good things happened for her as well.
She was a lovely, warm, giving woman and the first true artist I’d gotten to know personally. I do not think I would've made my career as a professional artist if it had not been for Julia and my parent's support.
While I was writing this blog, I remembered something important. When I came home from school crying about children making fun of me, my mother told me that if I could learn to do one thing well... it would give me the confidence I'd need to excel in life. My mother and Julia made that happen. I was very fortunate to have those two strong women in my life. In the end, I learned to do at least one thing well, which gave me the confidence I'd need to move past those who wanted to bring me down.
Check back soon to read Blog Post #6: A Guardian of the Road Discovers Her Nirvana-A Place of Bliss, Delight, and Peace! Coming Soon!
コメント