KALEIDOSCOPE: SLICES OF LIFE - VINCENT

Written by: Tricia Loh Qiuxuan (21-U1)

Designed by: Lay Kai En, Ashley (21-O1)

“Erm. If you ask me honestly, this is too much going on,” she said. Her wrinkly index finger near the canvas, she circled the air above the brush strokes. 

He swore Mrs Teo has something against him. Like some personal grudge of some sort which for some reason, could only be expressed through her much-unwarranted sarcasm when critiquing his paintings. Maybe he was just different. Over the years he acquired a certain style, there was surely a sort of idiosyncrasy in his works. Thick paint, thick outlines. Brave, dark, bold. 

“You know, the last time you said you wanted to paint a young lady, no? But the strokes here… Create this gloomy ambiance… It’s really not ideal. Actually, you make her look kind of wrinkly. But, you know, of course, this is only my opinion, you are the artist.”

He always found it ironic - the way she loved to stress on ‘her opinion’. It was, honestly, a terrible cover up for her stubborn contempt towards him.

The last time you said it was too plain, so I tried to add more depth to her features here, he explained. Then in a half-sigh, half-loathsome tone, she went on to ramble about his disappointing performance over the past year, how his works lacked charisma, appeal, effort, all the lovely adjectives. 

He was now in his usual element. He was the humble sponge, sucking her words dry, but processing nothing. Like a slow-mo scene in a movie. Sound is blurred. The camera pans to Mrs Teo with her delightful droplets of spit launched towards his face.  Camera cutting to the boy as he stares at her mouth with dull, vacant eyes. 

The lesson ended and he left in a daze. He didn’t exactly wish to impress Mrs Teo. But he couldn’t exactly bring himself to see his works deserving a ‘barely-passed’ for every coursework exam. Even in his essays, he was apparently ‘too technique-driven’ in his interpretations. 

Maybe it was dumb, the whole idea of becoming a successful artist. And in SINGAPORE? His mom was right, he really was deluded back then. There was no way he could become a local artist at this rate, let alone enter an arts school in university. 

Then a message from his brother came:

    ‘hey bro

what did she say about ur work’

He stared at it for a second.

‘lol. wanna make guess.

she detests me for no reason i swear’

theo (bro) is typing…

He groaned, placing his phone on the desk. He was absolutely losing it. Think of Theo, who, despite merely a few years older, was a part of the Singapore National Gallery’s arts management board. The brothers were always more on the artistic side. But Theo was different. He knew exactly where he needed to end up and climbed his way to the top.

A buzz. Half in a state of shock, he slammed the canteen table. 

“Alright - what’s going on. Why so shocked, man.” Phone snatched away from him, his friends peered over the tiny screen. 

“DUDE, you’re joking,” Emile says.

Sometimes, he felt like he owed Theo the world. He was exactly the brother he needed- the most assuring, devoted man he knew. Despite being an art student all his life, his works were never exactly considered worthy. He was always missing ‘signs of life’ in his paintings. Or at least that’s what Mrs Teo liked to think. 

But this text might be a game changer; this new exhibition was held at the National Gallery, and his piece was to be the main painting. 

‘Reimagining’, it was called. To feature up and coming local artists- to propel youth artists into the spotlight, apparently. He’d never considered himself as someone who’d fit into that bubble, but at this rate, he was more than ready to seize any opportunity. He couldn’t see himself as anything else other than an artist. 

Ransacking. A myriad of canvases were overturned that night. But none of them really seemed right. 

“This one?” 

Still-life paintings could never go wrong, he thought. He decided on a painting of sunflowers, one he painted in Paul’s place last year. Paul thought the piece was ‘completely him’. 

“I’m really proud of this. Paul said it’s one of my best works, too.”

Theo looks up from his laptop. 

“Good!” he said. He scanned the canvas, warmth spreading across his face. “I really like it.”

The two shared a moment of laughter. He loved sunflowers, they always seemed to smile at him whenever he walked past them at the florist. He had a series of sunflower paintings, his only works hidden from Mrs Teo. They were held too close to his heart and to subject them to her utter ruthlessness was the last thing he would do. 

Yet, for some reason, he felt compelled to seek her opinion. He spent the morning asking his friends at school, who all agreed that it was his best work. Today, he entered class with a fresh spirit of enthusiasm, pride welled up in him.

She was about to scurry off the moment class had ended, but he stopped her dead in her tracks. 

“You’re telling me you are going to be featured in an exhibition? At the National Gallery?”

He nodded, and took out the piece from his bag. I’m planning to send this in, it’s one of my favourite works, he said. 

Furrowed brows. Twisted face. 

“No lah. How can you send this in? Obviously not. I said already, your paintings are always too bold already, sometimes you need to simplify, don’t need so many patterns going on here. And if you want to make the flowers stand out, why did you only use yellow? The background should be a contrasting colour to bring out the sunflowers. If you want ah, I think you should go find something simple to paint. Paint the stars or something.”

He was crushed. 

Why can’t I have my own art style? Why can’t my work be bold? Just because your other students adopt a more conventional style doesn’t mean that I have to follow suit, right? I always find it stupid that I have to fit your stupid criteria and that you just CAN’T. LET. ME. BE. ME. 

A solo trip was what he needed most. Solitary, just a canvas and painting supplies. 

WHO SAID I NEED YOUR APPROVAL.

He set the easel down aggressively. Why he was so heated over this, he couldn’t really tell. The fatigue grows within him. He used to pour his soul into painting, how much he loved showing the world through his lens. There was never a need to fit a criteria till he ended up in her class. He used to paint out of love. Because it was cathartic, because it made Theo proud, because painting was an anchor, it kept him going. 

Oh, how much he'd lost himself. And it was all thanks to Mrs Teo. Pain, turned into woe, turned into fury. He looked at the skyline before him, Marina Bay was indeed a spectacular classic, but his vision was tainted, with rage and condescension. 

“Why don’t you paint the stars,” she said. 

Sure. 

He thought for a bit. Looked at the scene before him. Then, dark, thick coats of paint lined the canvas once again.He was spurred on by an odd aggression, gripping his fingers. He couldn’t stand being dictated by Mrs Teo, and he needed to shove it up her face.

At this rate, he didn’t even bother perfecting his piece. Regardless of what he painted. his work was going to get featured as the main piece. So technically, it didn’t really matter what he painted, did it? Whether Mrs Teo liked it or not, it really didn’t matter.

It was past midnight when he was done. He stood up awkwardly from his easel, back tracking several steps. Yes, this was it, he chuckled to himself. That’ll show her. 

Theo was quite surprised to see the new painting. It wasn’t what he expected his brother to come up with, and he certainly wasn’t expecting to feature a potentially controversial piece as the main artwork in this exhibit. But there was something intriguing about a work so ironic as this and he found himself falling more and more in love with its absurdity. 

It was decided then. Mrs Teo was invited to the opening, but he refused to show her the piece before that.

Vest, suit, tie. Theo squeezed his hand around his shoulder. Silence fell as their eyes traced the creases of the velvet curtain draped over the canvas. He reached out, feeling the silk between his fingers. Electric. Then he erupted in laughter, his voice reverberating through the empty space. Think of Mrs Teo cutting his ego with words, then think of himself, directly giving her the one finger salute through his work.

By 7 p.m. the crowd started streaming in. He bounced his leg nervously as he was seated in a room away from his audience. Occasionally, he’d peek to see people in cocktail dresses sashaying in, fingers swirling wine glasses and pinkies in the air. Glossy heels gliding across the laminate. It felt quite surreal to hear the lively, indistinct chatter against gentle Blues in the background.

They got ready when the clock struck 8. The murmur faded to complete silence. With the crowd seated before him, while Theo gave a generous speech, his eyes darted around the crowd. Clad in her usual ‘Tai-Tai fit’ with an extra bling, he saw her, busying herself over the refreshments. 

It was now his turn to speak. 

“Needless to say, I was beyond thrilled when Theo told me of this exhibit. The moment I reached home, and Theo would remember,” he chuckled, “the way I practically ransacked the room, in search of a painting.”

“Then I settled on one,” he said, going on about his painting on sunflowers. He diverted his attention to Mrs Teo now. 

“My God, was I THRILLED to show her my piece. It was one of my favourite pieces. But for some reason, it didn’t sit right with her. She said it was too bold. That I needed to simplify things.”

Mrs Teo shifted awkwardly in her seat. 

“She told me to go for something simpler. ‘Paint the stars” He waved his hands with mock incredulity. 

In his sing-song, story-like tone, he went on, explaining his trip to Marina Bay, following her advice. 

“Paint the stars. Mrs Teo, I took your advice. This is my piece titled ‘The Starry Night’.”

The curtain fell. Mrs Teo’s eyes grew. 

For some reason, the ‘starry night’ of Marina Bay wasn’t exactly ‘starry’ per say.

Black canvas and the warm glow of a nearby light post. Zero stars. 

Paint the stars, she said.