At the end of my first “Foundation” year in art college, our Dean Tom Hudson and my Creative Process instructor Sylvia organized a summer art project to coincide with the Vancouver Children’s Festival. It was called “The Rite of Spring”. We would have the open, grassy grounds at Vanier Park on which to erect a series of installation pieces, created out of lumber and other materials donated by local businesses.
I remember spending a half-day painting brightly-coloured stripes onto two-by-two posts with other students. There were banners on paper and on large sheets of painted plastic. There was also a tank of helium and a large white weather balloon.
We piled into a van and bumped around in the back for twenty minutes until we reached Vanier Park, where we unloaded all our materials and began setting up our various structures. The large, rolling grass field of Vanier Park stretched out along the edge of English Bay with a huge view of the North Shore mountains. It was a beautiful expansive place to work, and I was very excited to be outdoors helping the project however they needed me.
Across the field, we located large wooden tripods, banners, streamers, flags, and all the other constructions that had been conceived some of my classmates and some younger art students, following the themes of air, water, land, and the environment. Everything was waving in a light breeze and reflecting the sunshine of a gorgeous spring day.
Someone had inflated the giant white weather balloon, to represent air and space, I guess. Tom handed me the thick cord tied to it and told me “don’t let go of this, no matter what!” Of course I said okay to such an important assignment, and held onto it with genuine conviction. It reminded me of flying a kite, but the balloon was probably five or six feet across. It tugged on my arm in the afternoon wind like it was actively trying to break free. I felt its buoyancy inverse to the weight of my promise to Tom.
I took a few steps with the balloon, to see how it moved and to keep its line away from tree branches, while watching all the people around me installing their art pieces all over the green fields of Vanier Park. It was a bright day, and I looked straight up the long tether to the large white pet that was still straining at its leash, trying to take me for a walk. That was my job – to just hold on to that tether.
I looked down when I saw someone running up to me. It was our other instructor, Sylvia, and she seemed to be brandishing a large pair of shears. As she approached, I heard her laughing getting louder, and Tom’s angry shouting from near the parking lot. This wasn’t going to end well. I did the only thing I cold do: I ran for it. Even with my hiking boots on, I felt lighter than normal, like I was running on the moon. I bounded over rocks and leapt across a little stream in higher-than-normal leaps. I was excited and laughing to myself, but also a little scared of the nutty lady chasing me with the razor-sharp shears. You weren’t supposed to run with scissors.
After a few minutes of this comical chase, I got tired of running and just turned to face her. I may have actually said “Don’t”, but she just said “hee hee hee” and closed the shears on my line. Snip.
I felt the line go slack and heard Tom yell “Noooo!”. I watched our balloon fly up into the sky, being all it could be, heading up into outer space or maybe the north shore of Burrard Inlet.
Tom was super pissed about it, sternly telling us that he’d promised the city or someone that we wouldn’t release the balloon, it was illegal to do so, etc.
At that time, I felt genuine shame, and hoped our balloon’s flight hadn’t caused any trouble or danger for anyone. The topic was never brought up with me again after that.
I never let Tom know, but secretly the whole balloon debacle had been such mischievous fun!
Student Loan for Second Year
I had starved for most of my first year at ECCAD, scraping by on tuition money from my Dad, a $500 bursary from the Odd Fellows (arranged by my dear Aunt Molly), and various part-time jobs. I had squeaked by on a shoestring, but it was too difficult to keep going on that way. Friends convinced me that I had to take a Student Loan for the next year, and the idea got under my skin.
I hated the idea of carrying a debt but I knew that I needed some serious financial help. I bit the bullet, swallowed my fear about the application process, and applied for a Student Loan for my second year: a paltry $3000, which would cover my tuition, supplies, and a few pieces of new clothing. Everyone I told the story to said “Go for more!” but I was deathly afraid of going into debt at all. I knew I’d still need to work on the side to help cover my rent, but I wouldn’t have to work as much as I had before. I really wanted to focus on my school, focus on my learning, and do less running around between multiple part-time jobs.
Everything during this phase was about assembling enough money to live and to get by. All I had in abundance was optimism and a stubborn hope that I’d eventually complete college and get rolling wherever the future could take me. In my immediate future however, maybe I could just squeak by the next year on three thousand.
