Tree in a matchbox

Tree in a matchbox

A private school in Australia in the sixties entitled a child to a one-on-one learning basis. That is how Simon’s education started. His parents worked hard to pay for his fees. A blue cap with a matching blazer, embroidered with the emblem of St. Michaels became his first uniform. A small boy in a world where everything had its place and the world outside appeared strange and confusing. A cloak room that smelled of brand-new leather satchels and banana sandwiches.

It was during this time he began to explore the books in the library. Some of them were very explicit, especially for young children. There were pictures of the Holocaust, piles of emancipated dead bodies laying around in concentration camps and standing figures that looked half-starved starring at you with hungry eyes. And there was a picture of a family having a picnic on the beach. A mother, father and two young children. Unbeknown to them a gigantic wave, perhaps a hundred feet or more, appeared in the distance heading straight towards them. They seemed completely oblivious to it and went about their happy family picknick. It frightened Simon. How could something so big and horrific suddenly appear from nowhere to wipe them all off the face of the earth? That picture stayed with him for a long time, but it was another picture that made a big impression on him, so strong that he would never forget it. He was seven years old when he first saw the painting by Salvador Dali, “The Metamorphosis of Narcissus.” A painting of a decaying dog on a chessboard and the bent over naked figure of Narcissus looking into a lake. His head was a cracked egg with a flowering creeper growing out of it. Narcissus, who fell in love with his own reflection. Nothing could appear so other-worldly. It was later in life Simon found out that Dali had shown this painting to Sigmund Freud because it showed an aspect of the human mind and how it could change through its own self-reflection. As an adult when Simon moved to London, he would often visit this painting at the Tate Gallery. It became almost like a close friend and made him think back to that very first time he saw it in the little library at St. Michaels school.

St. Michaels was a place where religion played an important part. On Thursdays the school would march down along the footpath to the little church on the corner where Reverent Eggleton would hold his service at ten o’clock sharp. Simon, along with the other children loved the ten-minute walk in the fresh air. Once inside, the service would begin. Joseph in his coat of many colors, David and Goliath, The Ark, and the Flood. All the bible stories enthralled Simon although even at that very young age he found some of them hard to accept as truth. He listened to the Reverent as he spoke with a wild passion of what apparently had taken place a long time ago. Sometimes Simon made comical gestures with his hands and face, leaving his fellow young students laughing to the consternation of the solemn teachers that stood by them. He always presented an innocent face as they looked towards him with a puzzled look. He realized there are some things you should never question. It was a place of respect where everybody was supposed to play their part in one way or another. Was this the way that the world was really supposed to be?

Mrs. Wilson took the music classes. She played an old upright, scarred and worn piano and told them stories about the songs of yesterday. “Meow, meow, all through the night hour black cats singing in an alley way, serenading in a mournful way…” The seed of music was planted in Simon. He loved it, singing along with the rest of the children. The window to the outside world was beginning to open.

The principal, Mr. Bickford, was a retired British major. He frightened the children with his aggressive and stern behavior, he would have tantrums and did not hesitate to physically abuse them.

Simon learned to stand at attention on special occasions in the school yard as a uniformed boy played “God Save the Queen” on the bugle. Back then you stood up at the cinemas when the British National Anthem was played before the film started. It was to show respect to the British monarchy and remind you that Australia was part of it.

After several years at St. Michaels Simon’s parents decided to put him in a public school. They felt they could no longer afford the high school fees and it was closer to home. Simon was happy as he did not have to deal with the dreadful Mr. Bickford.

On the very first day at Glenfern Primary School his joy and excitement turned to dismay. The dreaded ogre from St. Michaels, Mr. Bickford, had taken up position as the new principal of Glenfern Primary School and Simon was once again confronted with the conservative old major from the British army that now seemed to follow him wherever he went. Simon was a little older now and not as intimidated and scared of this man who after several nervous breakdowns and mental issues had mellowed down considerably, but he felt uncomfortable around him, nevertheless.

It was there at Glenfern the seeds that were sown at St. Michaels began to take root. A hunger developed from the very first sketches he made of pirate ships, impossible jungles with colorful birds, spaceships and cowboys and Simon continued to draw, releasing his frustrations and fantasies during his time there.

The choices for future careers seemed to be limited. You could either go to the Tech School at Strassmont where you learned a trade like becoming a boiler maker or a fitter and turner or go to Gilbert Planes High where you had more possibilities and a chance of going as far as you wanted, even university, if you were prepared to work for it.

Simons first year at Gilbert Planes went very well. He achieved high marks and respect from the teachers and fellow students and Mr. Rogers wrote in the final report “Simon is a fine young man; a diligent worker and he will go far.”

At this time, the entire world was moving through profound changes. Australia was pulled into the Vietnam War and the psychedelic sixties had arrived. Cynicism and rebellion against the old system and the old school way of thinking was rapidly changing. Music ruled and a black and white world had suddenly turned into color. Mr. Bickford with his pencil thin mustache, green tweed sports jacket with matching English knitted vest and lime green tie which also matched his cold green eyes, was now becoming as obsolete as Charlie Chaplin and the Military Two Step, and Simon was enthralled by it all.

The new world was here in a tsunami of experimental ideas, colors, music, and fashion. Simon realized he had been shown a window into this brave new world a long time ago when he first saw that painting by Salvador Dali. It was a world he never imagined could exist, yet here it was taking place right in front of him. The changes became evident and like many others of his generation he became aware of a different way of seeing things. His hair began to grow longer, the tie got looser around his neck and the old school uniform began to lose its significance. The knee-high leather boots with the Cuban heals became a symbol. He walked with a new sense of himself. The world was indeed changing.

It was not long before Simons artistic abilities became increasingly obvious, and he began to receive praise for his daring innovative paintings and works that came out of classroom 2 CA.

He moved through the third year of his schooling and his credentials as a creative artist were already becoming established. But this was a school where conformity was still the required norm, and it became inevitable that a clash would take place.

“Get your hair cut.”

“Tidy yourself up and start looking like you want to become a solid member of community.”

‘Fit in, learn to know your place son….”

The situation began to deteriorate, and the principle inevitably gave him his own private desk in the corner of the library where one or two of the non-conformists and the bad boys would end up. It was not only humiliating but Simon began to feel like he was becoming sought out and hunted and he became very depressed. What exactly had he done to warrant this?

It was then he befriended the head of the art department, Kasper Freidman. Kasper had noticed the talent in the boy and appreciated Simons work so much that he chose one of his large paintings to be hung in the school foyer. This managed to upset and confuse almost every one of the 1700 students and teachers at Gilbert Plains. It featured a multiarmed symbol of a God like being radiating colors from every angle around it. Kasper started to give Simon shelter in the Art room during the lunch breaks as his notoriety as somebody who did not conform to the norm began to take its toll. He hated being in the spotlight and yearned for anonymity.

Simon was caned for insubordination or for being caught arriving at school in the morning and walking out the back gate to catch the bus into the city as his fellow students were just arriving for the day’s lessons. This continued day by day, the need to “get out” and escape was now becoming a real necessity for him. He dreaded school and the bullying tactics of his peers. They said he was a bad influence on the other students, and some were copying him.

Thank God for Kasper Freidman who became Simon’s mentor and friend. He constantly reminded him that it is not a crime to be different or to envision another world with other possibilities and nothing to be afraid of.

They sat together for hours in the art room. Kasper, in his crazy eccentric, homemade purple suit, talking about such varied subjects as Picasso, Dali, Matisse, Rembrandt and the films of the Swedish director Ingmar Bergman who was notable for the film ‘The Seventh Seal’ where the knight played chess with Death. And so, a new world opened for Simon. A world outside the confines of the small conservative world of propriety, conformity, and routine.

Kasper and Simon remained friends for the rest of their lives. They were joined together with the love of life, art, and music. Years later Kasper and his wife Genevieve were guests at Simons wedding and Kasper was invited to open Simon’s exhibitions on several occasions in the city. It was a deep and meaningful friendship, and they met sometimes under the yellow lamps of a quiet little café in the city backstreets, sometimes without talking, enjoying the silence that only real friends understand.

“Thank God for art.” Simon would say.

“Thank God for you Simon. If it were not for you, I would have given up years ago.”

“Likewise, Kasper. You can not grow a tree in a matchbox.”

They both laughed and raised a glass of rose.

“To The Metamorphosis of Narcissus!”

Simon became a well-known artist and musician. He moved on to art school and university where he excelled, often with praise from his peers and fellow students. It was with great satisfaction he took up the position as art lecturer at the university taking back the ground he had lost in the early days of his schooling when the world was a much smaller place and black and white it seemed, were the main predominant colors.

No, you cannot grow a tree in a matchbox.