The Route of Dorothy's Drawings

 THE ROUTE OF DOROTHY’S DRAWINGS

Charcoal portrait by Dorothy, 2014 

(School Art Show & Auction)

On a warm spring afternoon this past May, Terry headed to the artists’ building in Rollinsford. There was an iron willpower in her steps; she was not going to let our daughter’s artwork be sold at the school auction.

At the end of the school year, a charcoal drawing and a watercolor by Dorothy had been selected for an exhibition that would end with them being sold to the highest bidder. Our fear was that the prices would climb out of reach and we wouldn’t be able to buy our own daughter’s work.

It was a decade ago when I knew for sure that Dorothy had a special talent for art. She was barely five then. On the night of March 11, 2004, her kindergarten organized an art show. Standing in front of the exhibit, I had a revelation: her drawing had a skill and a refinement that set it apart from the other children’s work.

The year before, we had moved from Europe to the United States, and like every beginning, it was a hard time. In England, we had a stable, quiet life, but Terry wanted to move to New Hampshire because it was home—the land she had left behind after finishing her studies.

In the United States, my wife and I started over from nothing once again. Our rented apartment was practically just walls and a ceiling. On the first day, Terry went to Walmart and bought three plates, three bowls, and three spoons; we ate sitting on the stairs. From England, we only brought our suitcases; our other belongings would arrive later by ship. We gave away our appliances in London since they were useless in the States; we left the dishes behind, the furniture was too heavy to ship, and we sold the car and the piano for next to nothing.

Once in New Hampshire, my wife went to work at the school that had hired her, and I stayed home to care for Dorothy while I sorted out my papers. In these parts, a car is essential. People drive to work, to pick up their mail, to use the ATM, and even to buy a cup of coffee without ever getting out... but I bought a second-hand bicycle. I became an unusual sight in town: a Latino immigrant on a bike, taking his little girl to school in sun or rain.

That night in 2004, parents were scratching their heads in front of my daughter's drawing, wondering if she’d had “help” from an adult. But the teacher cleared up their doubts, stating that everything had been done in class right in front of her. Something changed that day: Dorothy started getting invited to play at her classmates’ houses, and parents even began offering to drive her to school.

Dorothy’s passion for art began in London when she was very little. Back then, I worked nights and cared for her during the day. For the first five years of her life, I stayed home to look after her. I have no doubt those were the happiest years of my life. Every day was an adventure, and what she loved most was always drawing and painting. I made her an easel, and every day we ended up smeared with paint from head to toe.

One afternoon in late August 2003, Dorothy was looking out the living room window and shouted with joy: “Binky is here!” After four weeks of having almost nothing, our things from London finally arrived. “Binky” was a large teddy bear, the same size as Dorothy. With him came her art supplies, our clothes, and Terry’s books. My tools were also crossing the Atlantic again; they had been passed down to me by Terry’s father. Over the years, I had taken them from New Hampshire to London, and now they were finally back where they started.

Since then, Dorothy has never stopped drawing. She pours herself onto whatever paper comes into her hands. She is no longer the top student she once was; now she steals time from math and language for her art. Her teachers complain that she doesn’t finish her tests, while she finds the time to fill every margin of her notebooks with little drawings.

This past February, she turned fifteen. I didn’t give her a big gift, but I gave her a promise: “Before I get too old, I will take you to Japan,” I told her. Her style has shifted toward “anime” and “manga,” which has sparked a deep interest in the culture of the Land of the Rising Sun.

Those days of riding a bike through the steep streets with my daughter on the back seat are long gone. I couldn't do it now; the years don't pass in vain. I did it back then because, in life, you often have to pedal uphill. The love we have for our own gives us the strength to reach the top.

Actually, the years don't pass in vain in any activity. Today’s technology moves at breakneck speed. For a year now, Dorothy has been using a tablet, and the possibilities for detail in her drawings have increased… not to mention the time she spends on it!

That day in May when Terry walked to the artists' building, I got home and found the charcoal drawing and the watercolor from the auction—the ones I feared would cost us a fortune. I couldn't believe that Terry, normally shy and quiet, had the firmness to stand up to the auction and bring them home. “How did you do it?” I asked.

“In this house, we might never be rich,” she told me. “But I have boxes and boxes of every single thing my daughter has made since she first picked up a brush. And I wasn't going to let these be missing from her collection.”

I thought about Terry’s words, and I decided to write this story.

New Hampshire, USA

September 2014

“Princess,” drawing by Dorothy, 2004 

(Kindergarten Art Show)

Watercolor painting by Dorothy, 2014 

(School Art Show & Auction)

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