The Origin of Species

Me, age 45

When I was a little girl, I won an art contest at school. I was in grade one at the time. The theme was "What Does Easter Mean to Me?" and it was, of course, early Spring, cold outside, and I hated school with a passion I did not dare express. However, I loved to draw and I was excited about this contest. I sat in a row at the back of the class, our desks lined together like seats on a school bus. I could easily see what the kids to the left and the right of me were drawing. Eggs, of course. Maybe an occasional bunny–Pagan symbolism, which I had no problem with at all, it was just all rather mundane. As for me? I recalled the knowledge of my Christian upbringing and decided I would attempt to convey the story of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, which I knew lead to the Resurrection and the Resurrection is what Easter meant to me. That's what my mother taught me. I don't mean to circumvent the discussion about the original origins of the holiday, which predates Christianity, but I am going to leave that conversation for another day. Instead, let me explain what my drawing looked like.   

It featured the image of the three crucified men, as the story goes, with Jesus in the middle. I didn't focus too much on the details of the men on either side of Jesus, but I did go into a lot of detail when it came to Big Man J himself. I made sure to show his ribs sticking out, as they do on all the Catholic paraphernalia, and I made sure to have blood pouring from his hands and feet, which were nailed to the cross and I definitely made sure to include a lot of blood as it gushed from his side, as the story goes. The gore was half the charm of the drawing, in fact. 

At the base of the cross, I drew two women; Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdelene, the bestie of Mary (right?). They were both crying really hard and I made sure to convey that with a stream of tears that fell from their eyes not so much like drops of rain, but more like bullets fired from an automatic rifle, spewing forth towards the cross at a 45 degree angle. The emotions within the piece were raw and intense. I wondered if perhaps I had gotten a bit carried away but as I handed in my assignment, I noticed I was the only kid in the class who had created such a piece and I was confident I would win merits for individuality, if not accuracy. I was glad I didn't draw eggs. 

Days went by and I forgot about the contest. I had my mind on chocolate, like most kids did. I don't remember exactly how I found out I had won, but if memory serves me correctly, they called my mother and told her and then she told me when I got home from school. It was a VERY big deal. I had to go to the mall to get my prize and have my picture taken for the newspaper. My artwork would also be featured in the newspaper as well and on that day, I will be honest and say I was not feeling too comfortable with all the attention I was getting. You might assume otherwise, but I was never someone who enjoyed being in the limelight. 

As things progressed, I became very anxious and agitated because I was told I would receive a prize for winning this contest, but I didn't know what it would be. I hated surprises with a passion that equaled my distaste for institutionalized education. My imagination went wild, too wild, in fact, to enjoy the hope of a "surprise" but that day I was mostly concerned about whether or not the message of my artwork came through. I wanted people to stop and take note of the suffering of Jesus Christ on this Easter holiday, that was what I was hoping to achieve with my drawing. That's what Easter meant to me, and wasn't that why we were all there in the first place? I had no idea what kind of "surprise" this sort of thing would warrant.

My mother, my grandmother, my sisters and my cousin went to the mall with me that day. I was treated well by the folks holding the contest (I believe it was the owners of a local toy store) and the newspaper reporter shuffled me around in order to get a good shot. Before the picture was taken, the prize was to be revealed and I was sure I was going to throw-up from the anticipation–I wondered why they didn't just get on with it. However, when the time finally came, it was with no small amount of disappointment that I learned the prize was a stuffed bunny rabbit. I was so very disappointed. It made me very angry. Apparently the meaning of Easter was decided already, pre-contest, by the looks of things. I saw no opportunity to discuss my artwork at all. I felt a bit embarrassed by the gravity of my drawing given the nature of the prize I had won for it. Maybe I should have been happy, but I was not. There was no allusion to the suffering of Jesus Christ whatsoever and that pissed me off. I smiled for the camera and the photo was snapped. I held the bunny tightly around the neck and couldn't wait to leave. I was exasperated with the entire experience. Not once did we discuss the image I had created, nothing to suggest it was understood that I had been as sincere as I could be, nor any mention of the obvious fact that I had pulled it forth from the very depths of my soul. No one seemed to care much at all about my message. I was really saddened by that fact but I got on with the day, took my prize home with me and then took it with me to church on Easter Sunday. 

This story represents a very pivotal moment in my life. It highlights my sense of conviction about my upbringing, which was arguably rather harsh at times, in regards to the issue of religion, but I survived all of that just fine because at the root of all that makes me me, I feel comparable to the Easter Holiday. I can muster a sense of purpose and intensity in any situation where the human condition is concerned, but what I felt more compelled to do, even at the young age of six, was to convey the human condition to the world around me in the form of an image. The religious overtones were predated by my convictions regarding self-expression and it is that original seed that was planted in my heart before religion ever took hold within me. By the time I was six years old, I had considered it enough to know that I wanted to use my artwork to disrupt the status quo. It seems I've always had an axe to grind, in that regard, and I love that about myself, to be perfectly honest. The beauty within a memory like this, for me, is the fearlessness I felt to express myself so fully in the first place. Where did that come from? It came from my mother. 

I grew up in a single parent household and things didn't always flow very smoothly. Between my two sisters and I, my mother had her hands so full sometimes she would just throw them in the air and head for cover (and I can't say I blame her, in hindsight) but through it all, one thing my mother never ever did was attempt to hinder me and my imagination. She always provided drawing tablets, pencils, and erasers for me. She always allowed me to play outside, unhindered. I wandered the woods (close to home), I spent hours upon hours in my bedroom, drawing, whisked away to another world, and back to reality once more when the responsibilities of school came crashing in. So I have always had myself to turn to when all else around me failed. When I entered the cocoon of my imagination, it was always other people I found myself thinking about. The love for my family was always paramount in my mind. I wanted to make the world a better place for them. I wanted to make the world a better place for everyone, in fact. 

This Easter art contest represented, in my view at the time, my chance to create change. I wanted everyone to stop and think about the theme of the artwork and consider the suffering of one man, in hopes it may change the way we treated each other. I don't know how my young mind gravitated to all these things at once in order to synthesize this desire within an image, but the message of Jesus Christ was simple like that, to me, and the contest represented a prime opportunity to get it out there. I remember it very well. And this is where my journey as an artist began. This contest represents my original foyer into exhibiting my art to the world. It is likely the reason why I am trepidatious to get too cliquey with any particular art scene and it is why I have no fear of failure when it comes to my creative pursuits. This is simply who I am and I never felt I needed to seek permission nor approval from anyone. That's just how my mom raised me.

There has always been a mechanism within me that desires to share my perspective on the human condition within my heart and there has always been a limitless palette of ideas within my mind. They say that growing up within a single parent household puts children at an extreme disadvantage and in many ways that is true. In my household, it translated to mean a complete overturning of societal norms and this trickled down into my everyday life in the form of total freedom. My childhood was rife with grief and many difficulties, but there was freedom within it as well. I remember boundless summer evenings, I remember fields of clover stretching out before me and the long walks from one field to the next, I remember bike rides and constant exploration. I remember never being without a box of crayons or pencils and paper to draw on whenever the mood hit. In this way, my mother could not have done a better job in raising me in the ways that allowed me to flourish, unhindered, even though it took me a while (and a lot of growing up) to see it like that. 

I've always been someone who likes to stop and reflect and take a moment to consider where I have been so I might know where I am going. So for my second blog post for Jo-Everlasting, I wanted to give you a glimpse into my mindset as a kid. I've always carried very heavy things in my mind, such as the crucifixion story. Many many years later I can see I haven't really changed much. That's just who I am and I realize I am one of the very very few adults in this world who cannot claim they lost touch with the artist they were as a child. I am very much in touch with the artist I was as a child and that artist child is still very much in touch with me. Somehow, I think growing up in a single parent household was a blessing in disguise and if that's not the case, then I have somehow managed to make the most of it because I have learned how to find contentment in the simplicity of my inborn device called imagination. I have not lost touch with my imagination at all and I know it is a gift. I cherish it as such. So, I wanted to give you a glimpse of the mindset I had surrounding an event that occurred rather early on in life for me and how the event of winning that art contest mirrors the person I am today. Not a lot about me has changed much. I feel like I am still bleeding out all over the page while the world around me is chewing bubblegum (to be honest) and I know how self-righteous that sounds, but I do not mean it to come across like that. I am just glad I know how to bleed and survive. I am glad I've learned how to grapple with the human condition and I do so willingly. I cope by making images about it, plain and simple. I am an artist, natural-born and lifelong committed to the calling. Welcome. I am very glad you decided to tag along. 

If you would like to view my artwork, you can do so by clicking on the following link: Art by Jody Noëlle Doughty