“The Magical Brush”

No one paid special attention to the tiny young woman as she quietly rolled the wheels of her wheelchair forward and entered the art gallery.

It was a busy evening and an opening night for “the young and talented” artists of the San Francisco area. Art lovers, media types, local politicians and art pretenders had all arrived to witness and revel in some sixty creations of these aspiring painters whose work had been publicly showcased for the very first time in the SFMOMA Artists Gallery. These artists all desperately wanted to be discovered, and receive recognition and appreciation for their countless hours of tireless work.

At the first glance, the young woman and her wheelchair seemed out of place with the caviar munching and wine tasting crowd dressed superbly for the special occasion. The audience were in their penguin suits and gowns tailor-made for the gala whereas she had a simple wool dark blue dress on that was buttoned up in front. For weeks she had to save a few dollars here and there so that she could come close to fitting in with the crowd. Not that fitting with this or any crowd was her goal in life but it was important to patron the gallery at this specific night and therefore she had to minimally respect the rules of engagement. Given the chilly air of a winter evening in the city by the bay, the young lady had her jacket laid on her dysfunctional legs to keep her warm, wore a nice smile and began the short journey to her destination.

She went through the entrance, was greeted by a woman no more than twenty in a short white silk dress, recorded her name in the registration book, picked up a schedule describing the arts and their stories, took a delightful look at item number 52 and made a right turn in front of a large self-portrait of a young painter who had managed to create a mess in dark brown out of his own face. Guided by the program’s map, she continued on to the back of the gallery. She was excited but had to keep herself contained.

***

A few months earlier, she was facing a different scene.

No one noticed her as she entered the library, smoothly and quietly like an expert rolled the wheels of her wheelchair to the far section in the east wing where several rows of tables and chairs were lined up for students to read, write and stay busy. That section of the library was hardly ever used as it was colder and therefore not preferred by most students.

Indeed, she was an expert on driving her wheelchair. For over ten years she had logged thousands of miles on a variety of them as they were her only mode of transportation.

She picked a spot next to the last window on the eastern wall, where one could see through the glass, look at the cedar trees and watch the students walk impatiently through the rain. She unlocked and opened the window to feel the fresh air taking note that she had almost forgotten how it felt to walk through anything. What she clearly enjoyed was to be out when it rained, and feel the drops of water on her eyes, her face and her chin. The taste of rain reminded her of the freshness of life, freed her spirit and enabled her to feel alive. To many, rain is a source of inspiration. She on the other hand could find inspiration in all aspects of her life and didn’t need to search for one. Life was a gift and she saw it to document life’s beauties by drawing them.

No one generally noticed her for any reason but if one did, the first reaction was to feel petty about her condition and express sorrow. Julia, the twenty-one-year-old, didn’t seek or need such sympathies. She was paralyzed from her waist down but such disability didn’t affect her intelligence or determination to advance in life. That is why she was uncomfortable and in fact felt offended when people approached her to express how sorry they felt or even worse to say how they understood her pain.

No, no one understood what she was going through and she didn’t care for such sympathy after all.

The life had chosen to test her will every step of the way and she wasn’t angry, content or sorry about the cards given to her. The same rotten cards were used to reach for the stars, achieve the impossible dreams and work tirelessly.

It was a beautiful autumn day, one with rain that washed all the dust from the trees, had the sun shy away behind the dark clouds, made eucalyptus’s green shinier and the courtyard grass dressed in lusher green. It was as if a painter, no, an artist, used her magical brush to paint the nature with the most beautiful choice of colors. The nature wanted to show off the inner beauty of San Francisco to anyone who had an appreciation for how a city should have been built, populated with a true mix of all races, genders, cultures and nationalities. Insert art, music, gardens and the intersection of Pacific Ocean with the Bay and that was her beloved hometown; San Francisco.

Julia loved to paint and no time was more inspiring to create her art than gorgeous rainy autumn days of San Francisco. Today was such a day. She went through her classes in the morning patiently knowing that her opportunity and time would come when she could sit, yes, she was always confined to her chair, at her favorite spot and start sketching her next creation.

She had a simple yet effective process. First there had to be an inspiration, a thought that could be expressed in lines and colors and find itself dancing waltz, tango or samba on paper. She had many such thoughts at all times but she was picky on which ones to invest in as her time was limited and she had to be effective in conceptualizing and determining the direction of where a certain path would take her.

Inspiration and thought would then follow with the basic sketch, then came the design of the layout on the canvas, followed by the actual drawing and painting and then her favorite part; magnificent finish with bright and shiny colors. Many times she would kill the art right then and there if she felt the creation lacked life and passion. For every twenty drawings she would start, only one would survive the entire process and end up worthy enough to hang on the walls of her small apartment. She had not sold any of her work, had never exhibited anywhere and the only praises coming to her direction were by her classmates and teacher.

Today, in this rainy day, Julia was confident her inspiration will turn into a work that would survive.

It was three in the afternoon when she began drawing. She sketched feverishly and went through dozens of designs and ideas until a gentle hand on her shoulder disrupted the river of thoughts. The lady librarian was reminding her that it was the closing time. Julia looked at the clock on the wall to her left and realized it was already past eleven in the evening. She had worked eight hours straight and over two dozens of designs and sketches were testament to her diligent and creative process.

The lady librarian offered to help to collect her items but with a dry smile and a few words Julia assured her that she could take care of her belongings. First she carefully placed the sketches she thought could be reused in her large green folder and the rest found their way in an orange folder. She never threw away any of her designs as she often managed to find an element in every one that could be used in future work.

Her art work all packed, Julia used her smartphone to ask for a yellow cab, opened her red umbrella and drove the chair to the corner of Holloway and Arellano Avenue where the cab would be arriving in a few moments. It was then that Julia realized how hungry she was.

Ever since Julia entered San Francisco State University as an art
student, she committed herself to be fully independent and chose not to ask for help or look for people’s sympathies. She considered herself an artist and her physical disability wasn’t going to limit her to achieve what was her natural and rightful eventual place in the artistic world. Now in her senior year, Julia had developed her own style of painting which was a combination of “Expressionism and Fauvism” mixed with her artistic expansion. The style was mostly associated with the early twentieth century of European artists like Matisse. These days it was hardly practiced and was primarily taught at schools. Julia on the other hand had modified the style to her taste. She focused on the use of vibrant colors to create and highlight emotions and set up certain sense of mood on the canvas that fit how she felt at that moment.

On her laptop’s home page, she had her beloved quote from Matisse: “The chief function of color should be to serve expression... A work of art must be harmonious in its entirety.”

Her paintings were harmonious in their entirety with a generous use of sharp colors serving expressions.

***

Julia was not always so positive and independent. When the car accident occurred, over ten years ago, her life changed overnight. She lost both of her parents and all the senses to her legs. It took her a year of rehabilitation just to be able to come back to a normal life, minus her legs, and be a person that one could speak with. Depression was her main enemy and it didn’t help that she had to bounce around an uncle’s and then an aunt’s home. All family members were sympathetic but no one really cared to volunteer helping out a disabled depressed teen.

Somehow Julia managed to complete the middle school with absolute minimum commitment to her studies. Her friends, and she had so many of them before the accident, at first were supportive, but; one shouldn’t expect much from 12 and 13 year-old teens entering the “fun phase” of their lives. Julia couldn’t really party with her friends, go shopping with them, date or just about do anything else teens her age wanted to do. This led her to loneliness and a deeper depression.

Her Aunt Marie, the one that was now acting as her guardian, was worried about the dark path she was taking.

In her freshman year at high school, Julia finally found her calling. One day, sitting at her art class, thinking about her life and feeling sorry for herself, she began to draw two large eyes full of tears staring out and jumping out of the paper. The sketch was both gripping and horrifying at the same time. When Mr. Roberts, her art teacher, saw the drawing, he simply stood by her and for some time was lost in the tearful eyes.

After class, Mr. Roberts asked Julia to stay for a few minutes and learned about his new student’s life.

Soon, Mr. Roberts became her chief mentor and father figure. He began introducing Julia to different styles of painting. He encouraged her to try-out Modernism and its radical way of presenting objects, Impressionism and the use of color and reflection for every object on canvas, Abstract Style representing emotions in shapes, Expressionism and how the style is closely related to human hearts and Surrealism and visual artworks.

At first Aunt Marie, a traditional woman, allowed her to develop her skills and even encouraged Julia. As she entered the sophomore and junior years of high school, Aunt Marie became restless and tried to steer Julia away from painting. Julia recalled the day when the two of them finally collided on the topic.

Her aunt took her aside and began her lecture by asking Julia to name the ten most famous painters. After Julia responded with her heroes like Van Gogh, Pollock, Matisse and a few others, the aunt cautioned her that those painters were all men and women tend not to go that direction. Julia was reminded that additionally she was a disabled woman and as such had to focus on learning trades that would match her physical condition and allow her to make a living for herself.

That was the last time Julia and Aunt Marie had a meaningful conversation.

***

The painting was coming along; coming alive. This was not just another work of art for Julia. It was the piece that was going to announce her arrival to the art community.

Every day, at the same spot in the university library, Julia worked for hours at a time to draw, redraw, change the sketch to find the right mix of magic and art to display. She did have a set date and the deadline was looming closer and closer. The main subject of her work was the trees and the effect of a strong wind in a rainy day as branches and leaves were pulled in different directions. She was set on all of that and had used her entire creative juice to give life to the objects resembling her trees. It was the final component of the painting that was worrisome and she felt under a tremendous pressure to be perfect.

***

On this Thursday afternoon, yet another rainy day by the bay, Julia went to the Fisherman Wharf area near Pier 39. She loved the location as she was able to see both Golden Gate bridge and Bay Bridge from a certain vantage point and use the beauty of the bay to imagine. In such visits, in her mind, she would draw a thousand paintings.

For the first time in a very long time, she thought about the car accident and loss of her parents. Usually she avoided such thoughts and tried hard to park those memories in a lock box in the corner of her brain where she didn’t have to open up and revisit such moments, but; today a simple scream of a young girl, probably around eleven, reminded her despair some ten years ago when the Toyota Camry driven by her dad collided with an on-coming truck. She felt the tears in her eyes and that was not because of the wind slamming rain into them.

It was then and there when Julia settled on the last component of her painting.

***

As she navigated through the Gallery patrons, she felt the leftover drops of rain on her face. Like the time she was a little girl, Julia quickly used her tongue to pick a drop from around her upper lip and tasted the rain. She liked this naughty act and enjoyed the fresh taste of rainfall.

Moments later she reached section 14 where per guide eight paintings were displayed and number 52 was in display. The section was crowded and those there seemed to be engaged discussing a point of interest. Through the hum of the crowd, she heard words like magical brush and amazing talent. Julia never felt jealous before but there she wished for similar expressions and compliments someday be given to describe her work.

Then the crowd began to hear a man, an expert, discussing the “magical brush.” The voice sounded familiar. In a few moments she recognized the voice as the one belonging to the Director of the Gallery and the very person who had signed her up to display her painting “Tears of Nature”.

She couldn’t see through the men and women standing in front of her and discover which painting was receiving such praise. Disappointed she turned away to look for her art among the other seven frames on display. She scanned the room but couldn’t find number 52. She felt a rush of disappointment.

What if the Director simply found a better work than her piece and replaced it?

Feeling heart-broken she looked toward the director with her eyes asking why her painting was not there.

The Director continued:

“In this example, the painter is using sharp colors to bring nature to life using a style long not used but much appreciated.

Expressionism and Fauvism relies on symbolism representing life imageries. This painter uses a pair of beautiful blue eyes seeming lost in the rain and among the trees producing an image that is shocking and thought provoking. In fact, eyes, sized larger than life with eye lashes forming the swinging trees, are forced by the wind to dance in different directions which creates the main focal point of the painting.

You could make your own determination if the teary eyes are producing the rain, or it is the rain that has caused the tears. Regardless, one is stunned with the visual and this exceptional work. The artist, a young lady, is the reason our gallery exists and why we do such exhibits.”

A smile overwhelmed Julia’s face.

An older man next to the painting spoke with excitement:
“An amazing piece, so vibrant, so moving. There is no price. How much is she asking for it?”

Another call came from a woman with a rich English accent.

“How would she feel if we purchase the painting and take it to London for an exhibition? In fact, I would like to see her entire portfolio. I love her unique style and am confident of the wave it would make in the British art community.”

By now, Julia had parked herself by a wall away from the crowd and was fighting emotions trying not to have the tears of happiness rolling down her face.

No one noticed the young woman on her wheelchair with large shiny eyes full of tears.

The Director quickly glanced at her, gave her a nod, and continued to praise the work.

Life was going to change drastically for Julia. She had been discovered and most importantly appreciated!

***

No one noticed the young woman rolling her wheelchair toward the Gallery exit and leaving the building. As always she wasn’t that noticeable but this time it didn’t matter.

The rain was still falling and it felt as joyful as ever to “dance” in this rain, out on the street. It could have been Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds jumping out of the movie screen or a simple tiny young lady, not very noticeable, rolling her wheelchair singing and dancing endlessly in her heart!

Kaveh Mahjoob
San Francisco
Fall of 2010

‍