A letter to my junior school art teacher - David Fitzgerald
Dear David sir, This is Subhaditya, or Vishal as you knew me back then. I barely remember how many years ago it was. You had recently started teaching art in my class then. I have these vague memories of awe when I saw you draw on the blackboard with a marker. It seemed like magic almost, you would draw some lines and suddenly, presto! It was a horse. Or a dragon. Or a face. Did you know I have loved dragons since then? You always started them with the letter 5. I remember pestering my parents about art. Back then I used to doodle and draw all the time. When I went to Kolkata for the summer break, my parents enrolled me in a class for painting. It was with my cousin brother, and I hated it. It felt so stifling. I do not remember the chronology of this, of course, I was in the fourth grade I think. A little boy who just wanted to draw dragons.
At some point, mom decided to ask you if you were willing to teach me art after school. Once a week. I think it was on weekends, I cannot remember. You did not take tuitions, and I was just a child anyway. But somehow you agreed. I remember going to your place the first day with an art book. You had a pet chameleon that was fascinating to me. I remember that it jumped on me. I can still feel its tiny claws on my shirt. You showed me a tattoo machine. An airbrush. You painted horses. You painted dragons. You made me paint a dragon.
I loved those days. At least, I think I did. After all, I had forgotten about them until now. You gave me a little pebble with a white horse painted on it. I still have it back at home.
I started painting properly during the pandemic in 2019 when I found art videos online. It’s been a few years since then. But if I think back, I remember traces of me trying to draw all my life. I never did it properly though. I did not realize it was something that I could do.
It is almost the end of 2023 as I write this, I graduated with a masters degree in AI a few days ago. In my hunt for a job, I came across one that had the toc: true title of “Creative Technologist”. It was an entry to art! As I write this, I am waiting to know if they accepted me for the job. It will be my first one.
While trying to find my way of art and thinking about the job, I suddenly remembered those days with you. And then I realized why I had stopped drawing. And… what made me fall in love with it in the first place.
Will you take a guess? Of course. It was. You.
You, David sir. You.
But life is not easy is it? I wonder if things had not gone the way it did, and you had stayed, perhaps this life of mine would have been very different.
I remember walking into class one day and seeing a new lady. Maybe she was a nice person, I do not know. I remember her trying to teach shadows with a coat hangar. I missed you. I wanted to know where you went.
I don’t remember how but I found out that you had tried to kill yourself. I remember hearing that you set yourself on fire, that your skin had melted off. I remembered those hushed conversations. I vaguely remember seeing a picture, or did I actually see you? I do not remember. As a kid, I did not understand what it meant. I thought you left because they thought you looked like a monster.
As an adult, I wonder how it must have felt. Many years after that, I had long forgotten these things, wiped away in the warm embrace of forgetfulness. I blocked off my art without realizing it. It broke me I think. There were many factors, of course. But that is not the point of this letter. In my darkest times, I wanted to kill myself many, many, many times. I wonder how it felt when it didn’t work. When you were left with the ashes of a broken life. I wonder how you are now, more than a decade later.
I wonder if you were made to feel like a monster for the gift that you had. I wonder if it tore you apart. I wonder what set you on fire. Was it you? Or was it them?
The real demons are not us are they? You were not a monster then, they were.
After I rediscovered art, I started getting better you know? I no longer wanted to die. I didn’t realize that that was what saved me in the end. I just did while writing this letter to you. Art showed me the world for what it was, not what I was told it was.
I tried to find you online, but I can’t. I wonder where you are now. If you are even alive. I don’t know. Maybe one day our paths will cross. Maybe they won’t.
I want you to know that I have been painting almost everyday for the past few years. I have a long way to go, but I am getting there. Art has made my life brighter. I wish I could show you my work. I wish I could tell you that I went to two art conferences and got to meet some of my favorite artists. I wish I could tell you that my friends have my art hanging on their walls. Yes, i gave it to them. But they cherish it, I think. Yes, I still do not feel like I am at a point where I can accept those compliments.
I suddenly remember something you said once. A classmate had drawn something poorly and he expected anger, like all of our other teachers had. You stood in front of the class and said, “Let nobody tell you that your art is bad. There is no bad art.” I wonder if you feel the same way about yourself.
I realized that art is not just our work, it is us. We are creatives. We live, breathe and exude creation. I do not know why. I don’t think anyone does. I realized that if we stopped creation, it either destroys us, or finds the cracks in our soul and gets out somehow.
You will probably never see this. Even if you did, I doubt you remember any of these. But, I do now. I see you sir, Mr.David Fitzgerald. I see you. I see your pain. I was a child then, but I’m all grown up now.
This is making me cry, so I will end this here.
Thank you sir, you started this journey for me without me realizing it. There are so many things I want to say that I can’t. If you are out there somewhere, I want you to know that you made a difference in my life. Perhaps this journey towards art was complicated by your pain, but perhaps it was the only way I could process it. After all, you were my art hero. As a little kid, what could hurt more than knowing that heros could die too?
Thank you David sir, for the horses, dragons and the magic. Thank you.
Wherever you are, I send you my love and affection. Little Vishal to you. I hope the fire that consumed you showed you the road you were scared to take, and I hope you followed it.
Thank you. For everything. Subhaditya Mukherjee 17th October 2023