4. Making the Grade

THE BEST lesson I learned in Catholic school was this: I am the best judge of my own progress.

I'M NOT against letter grades, but, when it comes to art, I'm the only one who knows if I'm happy with my improvement. Thank you Sister Rose Anita for teaching me that.

JUNIOR HIGH. I wasn't beautiful. I wasn't popular. I wasn't even funny. But I knew who I was and I liked myself. That did not endear me to the Immaculate Heart sisters, and it didn't take me long to be labeled.  I clung fiercely to my identity (rebel) and refused to give in (disobedient). I continued to laugh (stubborn). And, most of all, I loved to paint and I knew I had talent (proud).

ONE ART lesson stands out. It's Christmas time – the assignment is to paint a stained-glass window design. I'm in my happy place, quietly working, when Sister stops at my desk and asks if she can show my piece to the class. She takes it to her desk, folds my art into a tiny square, then proceeds to cut it up with scissors. She unfolds it, it falls in tiny pieces onto her desk, and she says, with a smile, "Oops, I did that wrong. I was trying to make a snowflake. But Nadi won't mind. She'll make another one."

I REFUSED (obstinate) and, as a result, received an F on the assignment. It was my first F. I should have been upset. I should have argued my case, told my parents, even cried. Nope. Not me. I smiled. I think I actually enjoyed it. I know I enjoyed the look on Sister's face.

I CONTINUED to paint at school, but only when assigned, and I never cared about my grade. But I loved working at home on my own. Only one painting remains from those days – Siamese Cat – and only because my parents framed it and hung it in the living room, where it remained for 40 years.

AND I ESCAPED those corridors. Not with humility and grace, maybe, but with anticipation of new adventures (hopeful), and with my confidence intact and tucked safely away in my back pocket (happy).

1. Kaweah School

SOMETIMES I think I became an artist because of all the people throughout my life who either told me I would be an artist, or told me I would never be an artist. This woman, Mrs. Chappell, was of the former group.

I SOLD my first painting to her in 1959. I was 7 years old and she was my 2nd grade teacher. I attended Kaweah School, which sat alongside a ditch lined with Eucalyptus trees, and included 3 classrooms and a tool shed converted into a cafeteria. It was here that I fell in love with blue-bellied lizards, snakes and birds with broken wings; the smell of new books; and finger-paints and scissors.

I PAINTED a stuffed donkey one day, which she deemed good enough to enter into the county fair. When told I was too young to enter, Mrs. Chappell was furious, and bought it from me.

I IGNORED most of the lessons Mrs. Chappell tried to teach me in those days, but praise sticks like bubble gum, and, 50 years later, I am still grateful.