Memories & my Dad’s work of art

I don’t want to start repeating the same old shit when I write these posts – that isn’t my intention. I would say that there is a therapeutic element to this though (the writing) as I’m reflecting and re-visiting moments of my past.

I thought I’d write about my family and how their input and support (or lack of) has impacted me. Let’s start with my Grandmother on my Mum’s side (Grandfather passed away before I was born). I can’t remember a time when I was actually told off for drawing on the walls as a three year old; it got to a point where the wallpaper had to be stripped off and left bare so I could just draw on them without any real damage, because somehow, I always managed to get hold of a pen when they were hidden out of my range and sight.

This ‘drawing’ thing mostly consisted of matchstick men, (in my mind I thought my drawings were of He-Man) and it progressed from walls and onto paper pound notes, my Dad’s birth certificate (wasn’t my fault I was able to get near it) and most books. My family just allowed me to do what little Gavin did I guess.

I remember my Aunt being really active and buying me drawing boards and paint and things like that; I didn’t get paint everywhere as I was mostly a biro child, but I don’t think they did this because I had any kind of talent or anything, because the majority of kids draw. What I’m saying here is thatI don’t think that I was born with this “gift”, because I’ve known of individuals with no art background and becoming quite proficient in the space of three years. It’s all about interest and attitude.

When I was about six, I was being looked after by my Dad and it was on a Saturday. I was watching something on TV in the living room and he suddenly goes downstairs, (presumably to the car) and brings up these long pieces of wood and then starts nailing them to the wall by the dining table, forming a picture frame.

This is what I remember but it’s definitely not 100% accurate.

This is what I remember but it’s definitely not 100% accurate.

Then, he gets out a pencil and draws this square and triangular type thing and then uses black to fill the centre part, then yellow paint and blue and white spray paint to finish it off before masking off the frame areas of wood and painting them in a glossy black.

This is my Dad’s recollection… he named it “concentration relaxation”

This is my Dad’s recollection… he named it “concentration relaxation”

This was done quite quickly as well so you can imagine me having never seen my father even draw a line being able to spontaneously come out with something like that. The thing is not once after did he do anything I’d consider artistic, he comes from an engineering and mathematical background which is even more of a feat. I’ll ask him if he remembers.

Gavin Dias