Page 35 of Chaos Theory
I stand behind an easel, fiddle with the paintbrushes. I can keep an eye on Kobi from here. This wouldn’t have been my first choice of activity, but I guess Sandra hadn’t figured the need to safely entertain human and android colleagues into her yearly budget. Trish is probably doing this for free. I asked Kobi if he’d even be able to participate in an art activity, and he assured me he would. Wary of what he did to the company website on his first day, I tell him he won’t be able to access any internet tools during the activity and anything he creates will have to be his own work.
‘People think that robots do not know anything about art,’ I hear him say to Shane. ‘But in August the PicassoBot 5000 was shortlisted for the Turner Prize, for a submission titledIs It Still Life?. The work comprised a hen’s egg frozen in a bucket of ice.Conceptual Art Monthlymagazine called it “the most ground-breaking piece of art since Marcel Duchamp’sFountain”.’
‘Duchamp?’ says Shane. ‘Oh, he really took the piss, didn’t he?’
I can tell this confuses Kobi and I’m thankful someone else is entertaining him for a while. I’m also thankful when Trish claps her hands and says, ‘Welcome, welcome, one and all. Can I have your attention please?’
Trish is wearing a floral dress, ankle-high boots and a long silk scarf wrapped around her throat and thrown over her shoulders. As she speaks, one scarf end appears on her right shoulder and tries to make its way to the centre of her chest. She picks it up and flings it back over her shoulder. A moment later, it happens again. This action is repeated at regular intervals throughout the time Trish speaks to us. She introduces herself as an artist with many strings to her bow. She’s dabbled in most of the creative and performing arts, always moving on to a new one before she really has a chance to break out into success in any one field, it seems. She likes to keep things fresh. She doesn’t mention JP.
‘Can anyone tell me what art is all about? What’s the essence of it? Why do we like it?’
I pray that someone other than Kobi will answer, and for once my prayers are answered. Imelda calls out, ‘Art is about originality.’
Trish smiles. ‘No. Art is about truth.’
I can tell Kobi is gearing up to ask about this, but luckily Trish moves on without elaboration.
‘Now. What is “art therapy”? I’m sure some of you are wondering, “Has Trish gone completely crackers now or what?” Before I explain it, does anyone want to tell me whattheythink art therapy is?’
I hear Dave mutter, ‘It’s what I need after any time spent near your wreck-the-head paintings.’
Unfortunately, Kobi chooses this moment to be helpful. ‘David has a theory,’ he says to Trish.
‘Ah, hello, you must be Kobi,’ says Trish. ‘I’ve heard all about you. I see you’re flying the flag for Ireland there. Beautiful use of colour. I can tell we’re going to get along. Now, what were you saying? David, do you know what art therapy is?’
‘No,’ mumbles Dave.
As Trish delivers her explanation, Dave reaches over and grabs Kobi’s paintbrush. He chooses some colours from his own palette, then quickly daubs a figure on the blank paper in front of him. Then he paints a large red X through the figure. He taps Kobi on the arm, nods at him, then nods sideways to the picture. It’s crudely done, but there’s no mistaking the figure. It’s Kobi.
‘Art therapy involves using artistic expression to work through emotional or psychological issues,’ Trish is saying. ‘Now, I know that might sound a bit heavy, but I didn’t want you all to think you had to compete with these.’ She gestures to the walls. ‘I know it’s intimidating.’
A sound like suppressed sneezing comes from the other side of the circle.
‘This is a safe space,’ she continues. ‘That’s why the easels are arranged in a circle. Right now, I want you to look inward. Use all the paints and brushes at your disposal. In fact, don’t even use the brushes unless you want to. Use your fingers, hands or even otherparts of your body. I want you to express on the canvas what it means to you when I say the word “family”. There are no rules. Just let it flow through you.’
We all make a start. Dave detaches his anti-Kobi picture from his easel.
As he casts around for somewhere to discard it, Kobi says to him, ‘David, may I please keep your picture of me?’
I was wondering if he’d recognised himself.
‘All right,’ Dave replies gruffly.
‘It is the first time I have been the subject of a portrait. I shall attach it to the wall next to my sleep pod. There is no mirror in my room. It would be nice to have a daily reminder of how others see me. Of course, it would be better if the red X were not part of the picture, but art is never perfect.’
I thought that Kobi would struggle to hold a paintbrush, but to my surprise, he reveals a hidden grip embedded in his right arm. It looks quite delicate but perfect for holding a fine brush. He gets busy with placing paint onto the brush, then onto the page.
Dave starts working on the family assignment too, using his hands to spread black, brown and red paint across the paper. I can’t make out any human figures. I suppose it’s possible that Dave’s family are alien mud monsters.
I peek over at Shane’s art. It’s abstract but not unpleasant to look at, with swirls and swooshes in various colours. Probably the colours of his local hurling team. He seems content to be lost in it anyway.
I look at my own page, still blank. I can’t seem to start it. It doesn’t seem right to draw a picture that’s just me and Mam. But I can’t face the idea of painting Dad with us either. And I don’t want to represent him as a ghost, or something otherworldly. How do you draw an absence?
‘I call this oneDrawing a Blank,’ I mutter to myself.
I decide to mix all the colours together on my palette for something to do.
5pm
