Andrea Pratt

It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to artist and blogger Andrea Pratt. I’ve been a fan of Andrea’s art and a follower of her blog for a few years, and once, when I’d saved $100 to spoil myself with something special that I knew would inspire me, I bought one of her paintings. It hangs proudly on my living room wall. I dream of some day spending a few days in Andrea’s studio, just watching her paint.

I am driven by curiosity and new ideas, so sorting out my life’s direction from all its distractions has been complicated. Nowadays I compare my own growing-up process (which is still happening!) to that well-worn cliché, the minefield. It’s a circuitous route that involves a lot of stops, starts and occasional backtracking. The key to overcoming the hidden dangers has meant identifying them first – which is not always easy!

As a child I showed precocity in two areas: art and writing. One day, at circle time in Grade Two, our teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. My friend Betsy said, “Andrea, be an artist!” and a light bulb went on.  I already understood that as long as I could express myself in pictures and words I was happy. I now understand that the joy these activities gave me had a ripple effect: they not only made me happy but my drawings and stories could also make others happy, which in turn came back to me. It was a perfect circle.

Adolescence and the pressures of growing up changed all that. School became all about letter grades and social standing and my family life had turned lonely and miserable. It seemed to me that adult life was all about competing, whereas all I wanted to do was create. I became depressed and withdrawn. I continued to draw and write, but without that all-important human connection I had lost the ability to make myself happy except when drawing and writing. My brothers and I were different from our conservative and conventional parents, for whom social acceptance and economic security were twin holy grails, so the prospect of their daughter being a flaky artist on the fringes of society (and probably dependent on them economically) looked a whole lot different to them than that people-pleasing, high-achieving, clever little girl had looked.

By the time I graduated from high school I had found acceptance amongst a small group of like-minded friends and had dealt with my feelings of disconnectedness by becoming almost aggressively independent. I also discovered a restlessness and adventurousness that, for many years, supplanted my desire to create. I had fun: travelled, went to university in Victoria, lived on student loans and dead-end jobs, never lived anywhere longer than a year, returned to university to become a teacher, travelled some more, lived and worked in England and Greece, etc., until I was stopped in my tracks by a severe bout of depression. I had no idea what was wrong, only that I was 30 years old and seemed to be spinning my wheels. At the time I figured it was some cosmic message telling me it was time to settle down, so my husband, Greg, and I had two babies and I upgraded my credentials so I could teach ESL in the public school system.

Desert, by Andrea Pratt

Creating some stability seemed to get me back on track; I loved being a mom to my kids and a mentor to these children of amazingly varied backgrounds, but struggled within the confines of bureaucracy. One day, at the pivotal age of 40, I was sitting in a school staff meeting and a seemingly endless argument ensued about on-site labourers and the questionable slogans on their t-shirts. I sat dumbfounded, amazed that I was wasting this precious hour on a completely meaningless (to me) activity when I could be home painting or with my kids. Greg had watched me struggle and was fully supportive, so I gave my notice the next day.

I’d like to say that my epiphany resulted in a chorus of angels singing hallelujah and that I found instant fulfillment and success, but I continue to be a work-in-progress. I have worked hard at my art career and progress has been slow but steady, but I have worked even harder at trying to be a good parent to my boys, because I have observed that good role modelling (i.e. watching parents make decisions based on conviction rather than fear) can make a world of difference to their ability to plot their own course in life. I would like to think that they can benefit from the lessons it took me so long to learn. After I graduated with a BFA in Visual Arts and before I made the hardest decision of my life, i.e. to dedicate myself to my passion and take the economic and social hits, I spent 17 years avoiding art galleries because they made me cry. I rarely drew. I still hadn’t learned one of the first lessons of my childhood: to make those I love happy I had to start with myself.

I am convinced that the passions and abilities we show as children are the keys to finding meaning and direction as adults. What was your favourite imagination-based game as a child? What were you good at? We learn what we love long before society steps in to tell us whether it’s ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, cool or uncool. Role modelling and sharing joy are the most important gifts we can give others. It may sound simplistic – and it is simple – but I believe that if you do what you love, whatever that is, the rest will follow.

Tweet This Post