Once upon a time, this structure was an infrastructure; looked upon with respect; honoured by the house it resided. Once upon a long time ago, this structure was a relief.
I imagine the father of the household, pressed, but happy he doesn’t have to use the bush.
I imagine him bringing his less fortunate friends around, and showing off, with pride glowing on his face, his beautiful pit toilet.
I imagine Mr Pit Toilet looking glistening, its zinc body shining, standing tall and proud, enjoying the care of the household.
Then one day, came a white porcelain bowl with matching box they called cistern. Perhaps, it was a family member living in the city, who brought it saying, “this one is the latest, it can even be installed in the house, no one would need to use the pit toilet again.”
Soon, our friend, Mr Pit Toilet notice no one comes to use him anymore. No one as much as glances its way. No one thought to clean it or perfume its inside.
Its body is rusted. Broken. Its roof, sunken. Its only companion are bushes no one thought to clear. Abandoned. Forgotten. Rejected.
Isn’t the life of man the same in some ways? This pit toilet is every man who was once rich. This pit toilet is that big man that was once the pride of everyone but is now poor and forgotten and abandoned to fend for himself.
Dereliction is the act of abandoning something, or the state of being abandoned.
I recently had a practical modelling class for my ss2 students. Our medium was clay and the students were naturally excited to mould. One notable thing about moulding aside from the somewhat cumbersome yet challenging process, is the thrilling idea of creating a pseudo-life; an everyday object. Being aware of this, my students were naturally very careful not to spoil their works. And it was with joy I watched them express their fears and yearnings for perfect mouldings. Often times they would look up to me on how to go about it. At that moment, the moulding was not just a clay work, it was a marker for their ability to create, and they were well aware of that.
It was also something to see how some of them looked when their works weren’t coming out as they would like it, it was a priceless experience. It was the bridge between an idea and the physical art. I like to think of it as a battle, between an artist and the forces, should he relent in replicating the exact idea he has in his mind, then we could say he’s lost the battle. But many artists do not -cannot – recreate in exact form what ideas they have. And understandably so. It’s always a case of the closer, the better.
The interest and excitement my students showed during the practical was, for me, a very satisfying time, I enjoyed the power, time and even worry they invested in their work.
At last came the finished works modelled work, and the smiles – and half frowns. Many of them again turned to me to assess their works: was it good? did I like it? Every single work was no doubt worth the stress.
My students, unknowingly, have been exposed to the real artist experience, and as a teacher it’s just a privilege to have been the one creating the opportunity and setting the tempo for that.
I say death comes with life; like corn with pear. Like how a tree – alive- is cut down – dead. Then its dried up, decayed body births logs which in turn births splits.
The splits are an army of combustion. The splits are children playing, holding hands, scenting of the woods. The splits are a seething mass journeying to its destination.
We call the splits firewood. Oh, those splits like brushstrokes, with their brownishness and their milkishness and their greenishness. Their relationship and their contrast and their clusters. We call it firewood.
But it is not because of any of these we love firewood. We love it for its flammability, for its economic value.
There is more to firewood than its usefulness – surely there is more to everything than what it does; has.
I see the firewood now, laughing and intertwining. Tonight, they will make fire; they will dance and colour the night a glowing living red and a filmy white. Tonight, those dead wood will be alive.
Paper Collage Art by one of my senior secondary school student, it skipped my mind to take shots of the painting process, towards the finishing of the collage it stroke me that i have to share this Poetic Art piece to the world. I was inspired by the art to explore paper collage art, just Painting with Papers.
A finished work of my free hand designed poster for a Sunday service program in my home town Benin city. The poster is placed on the background in the church pulpit, which can be seen in the above photo. It is a quick free hand designed work, done in three hours plus. It was done in the evening yesterday and was used today.
I feel excited, privilege to blog about this Daily Art and share photos of the various stages of this quick free hand poster design. I was the designer and photographer, i have no one to do the snapping, everyone around me were busy relaxing after their daily hustle. These are the photo shots…………….
Thanks a lot for viewing.
I don’t really have much to say, i just want to share some beautiful photos of my Visual Art senior secondary school students in action. Trying to observe, draw and paint, representing what they can see. Interpretation at their level of understanding. I am there to make them see a little bit. Lets see more photos…….
I want them to explore one hue- Black. Try to make them understand the shades, values and light, bringing those three things into painting by doing monochrome wash on a cartridge paper.
Watching my students get busy is what visual art is all about, bring the unknown to reality. It give the students a sense of fulfillment- to create and design some thing beautiful.
This is the end.