Je suis français maintenant

In case you haven't heard: I'm French now.

Up until now I've been a New Zealander of several generations thanks to migrating European forebears. Before I could become French though, I decided I needed to find out how my name translated to the language of love.

It was a bit of a revelation to realise I could have a different name. Yes, I'm a slow thinker now - well: slower. I'm a different person these days having lost so many memories* and found my tastes have changed as well. This is what has lead to the need (opportunity) to rethink what I like and who I am.

One thing I really want to be, I thought, is graceful. I've never been graceful. I've been loud, and clumsy, and an oaf at times. French women are graceful, right? Beautiful, and graceful. That sounded like the me I want to be. A me I could be.

I loaded up Google Translate in my browser to begin my personality redefinition: my Frenchifying**. 

Google translate, for those of you who don't know, loads as two text boxes. The one on the left takes what you want to say, and shows the translation in the language you desire in the right hand box. 

I was probably more excited than I should have been. I do like my name, but the idea of a fresh start was very attractive to me as well. I typed my surname into Google Translate and thought in the near-future of actually signing the French version of my name in emails and on forms; imagining people thinking my new name quirky at first, but then coming to know me by it and, eventually, I would change it for reals.

Imagine now my slight shoulder slump when the translation of my surname Park appeared as Parc.

Not missing a beat I thought "Never mind! I'll try my christian name and get a better result." You might also start realising how brain-damaged I actually am to think I was expected something different from what was translated.

Typing M I C H E L L E into Google Translate I again selected French for the translation: I just stared at the screen's result. Did I do something wrong? The same name appeared in both boxes. Michelle Michelle. Michelle Parc.  

So wait. I have a middle a name - not all is lost yet. I typed F R A N C E S.

My French name is Michelle Frances Parc.

J'étais tellement déçu.

I made a cup of tea and watched some soccer on the television*** for a while feeling really deflated. My first foray into the New Me had stumbled at the first hurdle. How could I be the graceful, beautiful French woman I wanted to be without even having a French name.

Yes; wait for it. Wait for it. Somewhere in the second-half (Melbourne City were kicking Melbourne Victory's arse 2-0) a lightbulb spluttered on and I realised:

I ALREADY HAVE A FRENCH NAME!!

So mes petits choux, my journey has begun.

Naw, I don't want to learn the French language but I do want to embrace the essence of the graceful art of Frenchness.

*My diagnosis

**Yes I know my family (father's side) is from Eastern Europe and probably Bohemian was a more authentic way to go but I'm going French for now, okay?

*** Told you my tastes have changed.

Finding my feet

I spend a lot of my time using Public Transport and Shank's Pony* to get places these days. It occurred to me as I was walking up Carlton Gore Road, past the off-ramp I have used so many times in my car, that I've never seen this part of town - really seen it. 

Sure, I've zoomed past, radio blaring, probably late to where I'm going, and never noticed the short, dead-end streets full of white villas; or the plywood fences going up to hide construction of new apartment buildings; or renovations that are happening along this road and so many others. I could go my whole life and never have known these things; and even now that I know these things, they don't have a massive impact on my life. Really. Yet.

I bus; I walk; I train; I ferry and yes, I miss my car but now my broken internal-GPS is reprogrammed enough that I can get to places I intend to, I'm properly mobile again. And I suppose what I'm really seeing is the benefit of ground level views of this environment I live in - or at least the potential of that.

The Big Draw

This past weekend was the last Saturday of the month so that means Eric and Steeven and Diane rally the troops for an afternoon of drawing and I then steal their photos and blog about it :)

Saturday was cold and I was late getting away. By the time I arrived at the Cafe on Benedicts Lane everyone else had been drawing for an hour. I was so hungry and cold that by the time I'd had a coffee and a muffin, I only had an hour or so to draw.

For ages now my go-to drawing implement has been an ink pen. Today I decided to go old-school and grabbed a pencil because my subject-matter, the cafe service area, meant I needed to stand on the stairs for my view. 

Photos from the Big Draw at Benediction Cafe, Newton, Auckland.

By the time the troops were regathering to share our work, my pencil outlines were done. I was pretty pleased with my drawing; I'd looked really hard and drawn what I had seen not what I had thought I'd seen (a trap for young players) so the scene had come together well. 

It was not a "pencil drawing" but a foundation for ink and paint. I started to ink in the cafe but the enjoyable administrative duties of the day (check out the other great work, have my photo taken with the other participants, chat and all that kind of thing) meant I was going to finish this at home.

I used a couple of iPhone photos for reference but mostly I had done the work with the pencil outlines. Drawing is really important when painting. If you can't get the basics, the rest just makes things 'worse'. I can see that with a number of people who come to The Big Draw who are very good drafts people.

They can see the space and curves and the corners and the perspectives and get that on their medium. Their confidence is a product of very hard work over years of seeing what's really there, not what they think is there. Their loose paint is brushed over very confident, essential lines: they make it look easy, but it really isn't. 

And I see when I get into problems with my work it's because the foundations are not right. They've gone wonky somewhere. I saw that on Saturday when, after standing on the stairs, concentrating on my subject, my tiredness made my lines go wonky and I drew kitchen appliances on the wrong level so it was a good place to stop.

Back home today and layering the paint onto my drawing then inking the lines for definition, I could feel where my lines worked and what I had paid attention to, and what I did not: the reflections, the depth of the room, the crisp light that I have completely lost.

But that's okay. I'm finding my feet again in many things. 

Drawing from Benediction Cafe, Newton, Auckland.

*walking

Sunday update

Someone at work told me that they recognise me these days as the person I was when I started my job there four years ago. They said how I seem to have released myself from the “squashed down” version I had become over the years, and that whatever it is that I’m doing - I should keep doing it.

This week has been just fantastic. I feel great; work is fantastic; mood is stable and elevated; I’m out and about and really enjoying life. 

The Big Draw

Yesterday was the last Saturday of the month so that meant a MeetUp with the Big Draw family. This weekend we went to Judges Bay in Parnell. I wasn’t the only person in the group who had never been to this part of Auckland before. It had lots of places and things and people to draw - from the expanse of the lake, to the chapel and graveyard on the hill, to the streets filled with every style of house I think Auckland could ever offer!

The weather was spectacular too although it got quite cold out of the sunshine as the day progressed.

Photo by Steeven Mou Sang

I set up at a picnic table and prepared to draw the lake with the kids dive-bombing off the jetty. Between the distance and my eyesight, I really did lose my way. Also still over working and muddying my watercolours - I even knew as I was doing it but kept puddling away and making things less clear.

But it’s in the doing that things get done, and I barrelled on.

Things I need to remember next time I pick up my pen and brushes:

1. decide on a focal point - what the heck are you drawing?
2. don’t fixate on details - broad strokes and gestures suggesting shapes.
3. draw people in the environment - to give scale and context
4. stay away from sedimentary colours - purify the palette and stop the mud!

It was a fantastic turnout though. Quite a few newbies showed up and I hope they come again. Again we relied on the kindness of a stranger to take our group photo at the end of the day and she did a fantastic job of getting us all in the photo.

Big Draw group showing work at Judges Bay.

Projects update

Wallpapering of the guest bedroom is done. It looks fantastic. Got rid of the worn carpet and revealed vanished floorboards. Personally, I want to paint them white but was out-voted by the rest of those with opinions. We’re gonna get a big rug in the mean time as well as two single beds for visitors. We’re slow, but we’re moving forward.

Guest bedroom painted and wallpapered

Hutch dresser repaint is all mine so getting my way with the white paint. Two coats of undercoat on the base of the dresser shows the promise of “stain retardant” not quite as retardy as I’d like but hey, it will add interest in the end! Again, slow progress - but progress none-the-less.  

Hutch dresser undercoating