An Artist’s Beginnings by Jillian Goldberg

Lion Gate to Michaelis School of Art

As a young art student in Cape Town at the Michaelis School of Art in 1968, we all took studio art, painting and drawing from the live model. As I recall now, we did not receive any actual instruction, as in those days, skill was supposed to emerge magically from that well of “talent” which one either did or did not possess.

Archival Photo of Model Asha

Unearthing this painting from over fifty years ago, it seems that I was able to paint something that in retrospect isn’t all that bad.

Our model had worked all her life at the school, and I heard that her daughter continues in the family business. Was her name Asha? She was lovely and gracious; brown skinned with long black hair. In those days of apartheid and complicated racial laws we called people from this ethnic group, Cape Malays, which referred to their community’s history as slaves brought from Malaysia to the Cape Colony. I can only imagine that the term is politically incorrect today. Similarly, the area that most of the community lived in was called the Malay Quarter, now known as “Bo-Kaap” or upper Cape as it sits on the side of the mountain above the city center.

“Asha” – Oil – 1968 by Jillian Goldberg

My painting of this model is in oil on Masonite, and apart from some scuffing on the edges, has held up incredibly well. I no longer paint in oils, preferring acrylics now, but seeing this after all this time does make me a little nostalgic for the magical, luminous qualities of oil. I think this painting has survived approximately fifteen moves including moves from one continent to two others. How it has tenaciously clung to my life is mysterious too. One loses so many things inexplicably over time and yet other things remain.

Instruction and teaching the young is not always a function of conveying techniques and information. During those years at art school, I had a teacher who truly inspired me and set the course of my future professional life. This man taught art education. He taught us the power of puppetry to create a magical suspension of disbelief, and he encouraged us to find the beauty and whimsy in trash and throwaways long before the idea of “trash to treasures” and recycled art became popular. Most importantly, he treated all of us in his class with the utmost respect. He understood our individuality and cherished it, drawing out the talents and skills in each person. He became a great mentor for many of us who kept in touch with him for years afterwards.

Here is a curious little story to add to my memories abut this art school: a couple of years ago I received an email from someone in Australia. This woman had come across my name on the Internet in connection with art education. She wrote to tell me that she had been a student of the very same man, in the early 1960’s. She too had been an art teacher, retired for many years and was now quite frail. She wanted me to know how much he had meant to her, and she wanted to share her memories with me. She continued to make accessories and small works with found objects and sent pictures of her work. Her daughter, she said, continued the tradition of puppetry, working with disadvantaged populations in the Australian Outback. Life is strange and wonderful and full of surprises. Good teachers create ripples of appreciation for life, appreciation for skills which nurture our creativity, and self-confidence that we in turn pass on to others.