Friday, July 21, 2006

Frightful memories of our art teacher, Mrs Lim

I was chatting with Yuan Harng about mathematical history, contour integrals and creative software when we fell headlong into that same old pit of reminiscence – secondary school days.

Yuan Harng: I was thinking of getting Corel draw, and learn to do animations.
I've always like art.

Yee Wei: Except the art teacher, haha. Bitch.

Haha... I still remember the whole fiasco like it was yesterday.

Same here. I still wonder, why did I make a fuss.
Should have taken a walk every Monday afternoon. Not like that subject is the most important one or anything.

Yeah...the effects who have been rather inconsequential.

I guess it was just a rather major deviation from norm, and that feels not right. that sense, it would have been not much different since I was deviating from the norm very much already.

No, for me. At that time it felt quite serious.
OMG I’m sent out of ze class when the whole school is in their classes.

Yes, you were rather upright... although the talent of mischief was latent and to be tapped.


The mind reels back to the early months of 1998, a convenient datum for many events in this writer’s life.

Our class had weekly art lessons every Monday. It happened that these 2 periods were right at the end of the school day, and we had to go to the Art Room for lessons. Thus we would pack up our belongings and troop over to the Art Room, a disordered mass of blue, white and green uniforms strolling noisily through meandering corridors and zigzagging stairways.

There was usually a general air of cheerfulness during art lessons, a sort of holiday mood that seem to permeate the hot sticky afternoon air. This general upbeat mood was not due to the art teacher, but because we had packed our bags and were mentally prepared to finish school and head for home. Its akin to the last two days of school before the Chinese New Year break.

The art teacher was a particularly grouchy woman, surnamed Lim. Her oval face and high forehead was accentuated by her hairstyle- pulled back tightly and tied into a tight little bun behind her head. Angular, almost triangular glasses completed the stereotypical comic book image of a bad tempered, middle-aged woman. In my memory, she was perpetually in a blouse and skirt combination, the colours of both always seemingly add up to an insubstantial brown.

While not built as solidly as a weight lifter, Mrs. Lim compensated by wearing blouses with discreet shoulder pads. Those pads fitted on her shoulders reasonably well, which gave her an impression of having wide shoulders and a stoutly built barrel chest, assumptions firmly contradicted by her normally proportioned but slightly flabby limbs.

I do not remember much about the art lessons themselves, except for a few inconsequential memories of a friend having drawn a severely misshapen caricature of me as a dickhead, in a boxing ring fighting it out with an enormous condom. Apparently, it was meant to be a comic strip advertisement for Durex. But because it was slapped together rather hastily and half heartedly, done between bouts of muffled laughter and chatting, Mrs Lim could not figure any of it out. It was probably a good thing; otherwise she would have probably given us trouble for such a decidedly un-avant-garde piece of graphite on paper drawing.

To be continued...

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