My First Art Job

My first art job, where I actually got paid, was back in high school.

It was the summer I painted fire hydrants.  

I grew up in a small town in Cape-Breton, Nova Scotia, a good distance from larger centres, so finding a summer job didn’t always come easily. Students would often get summer grants from local organizations, and that summer, my grant was from Development Isle Madame Association. I was hired to paint the flags of different countries on the local fire-hydrants.

One of the fire-hydrants that I was working on, was located in front of someone’s house.  The man who lived there wasn’t pleased with the project and one day, he came out of his house yelling at me.  He felt that the fire hydrants should remain red and yellow, so that they could easily be visible to firefighters.  

He made a good point, but I was following my directives, and that was to paint flags on them.

I was young, still in high school, and I tried to explain to him that I was just doing what I was told. That wasn’t good enough.  He yelled at me, shouting that he was going to call the cops…and that I should get off his property…and that he would paint over whatever I did…and that it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard of…and that nobody even knew where the flags were from.  The berating went on and on.  Eventually, I lost my patience and left for the next hydrant.

I was fuming from the experience. 

Within minutes of cracking the paint can open at the next hydrant, a car pulled over.  Another man, who I didn’t recognize, got out of the car and walked toward me. I thought I knew everyone on the Island, but this was the second man, within the span of an hour, who I did not recognize.  The man called out to me. I was still stewing from the previous incident, so when he told me he liked what I was doing, I assumed it was sarcasm, and I didn’t respond.  I wasn’t interested in having a conversation. I thought if I ignored him, maybe he would just leave.  At first, I didn’t see that he was holding something in his hand.  I was curt with my answers to his questions, avoided looking up at him, and tried to look busy with my supplies.  I just wanted him to leave me alone. 

Eventually, he walked back to his car, and I noticed that he had a ball of paper in one hand.  He got in, and drove away.  

I got back to what I was doing but the man pulled up on the side of the road a second time.  I thought, ‘Oh great…what does this man want with me now?’  This time, he didn’t wait for me to say anything.  He got out of his car and walked toward me briskly.  He stretched out his hand holding the same thing he had before, something wrapped in white packing paper.  He said, “You know, I think you’re very talented and often times, people with talent don’t pursue it.  I think you should pursue it because the Arts are important.”  Then he handed me what he was holding, “Here.  This is for you.  I made it.”  

This pottery mug was made and gifted to me by a friend of mine. I have a deep love for pottery, which stems from my encounter with the man who I think was Jack Ouellette (Turnstone Pottery). Coffee tastes best in them❤️.

Embarrassed by my abruptness and ignorance, I averted my eyes, said thank you, and accepted his gift. He was well aware that I wasn’t up for having a conversation, so he left.

I sat in the grass and I unwrapped the most beautiful pottery mug I had ever seen.  I thought about how rude I had been.  I was struck by the beauty of the mug, and the thought that he had made it with his own hands.  I held the mug and I imagined it had kindness baked directly into it.

I used that mug for years and years.  It was my absolute favourite.  It came with me to Acadia where I studied Biology, then to Dalhousie where I studied Physiotherapy, then to Calgary where I started to practice Physiotherapy.  It moved with me several times until it got lost in translation on one of those moves, but that man’s gesture of kindness has stayed with me to this day.  

With some searching, I can only infer he was Jack Ouellette.  I have never met him, but I know this, he was a potter in Arichat, where I was painting fire hydrants, so maybe?  To the folks on Isle Madame, if anyone knows if Jack Ouellette is still spinning the wheel and making mugs, I sure would love to get my hands on one of his. 

Plus, I would love to tell him that his kindness had a positive impact that I have carried with me over the years. And I may have taken the long road here, but finally, I’m painting.