A Case for Blotter Art

There are moments in our past that shape our vision.when I peered more closely over her shoulder, I
Going through my childhood photo albums, I catch anoticed that it was the blotter that was absorbing
glimpse of Anna in the early grades, a quiet girl who,her interest. She had dribbled a spot on the top
if she were still alive, does not know how even inright-hand corner of the sheet; she stuck the nib in
grade 4, she was pointing the way to freedom ofthe center of the spot and watched the darkness
expression. There is a lesson here that comes ingrow; a few details with the nib and the blotch
handy for parents and grandparents.became a piece of chocolate, its center dissolving
I have often wondered if Anna's life might haveinto a hole. Fascinated, I watched her work more
taken a different turn had she lived her early gradesblotches on the absorbent paper and more dabs until
in the sixties when the ballpoint pen, replacing thethe entire blotter turned into a kind of chocolate
fountain pen, dispensed with the use of ink blotters inswiss-cheese.
school. Children of the fifties, we learnt writing theOut of her desk came more blotter sheets. Instead
hard way--with steel-nibbed pens which we dipped inof holes, she made lines this time, dark molasses lines
ink pots and which invariably turned the writingdribbled and dripped almost spider fashion from one
experience into a mud-bath. It took us months tocorner to the next; she paused just long enough to
learn the art of compromise: speed meant accidentalthicken the middle stretch without breaking the flow
globs and splotches; if you really wanted to saveuntil the entire sheet became criss-crossed with
time, you would be far wiser to play the tortoise.tubes of varying lengths and widths and the blotter
But Anna was no turtle. Her mind moved faster thansat on her desk like a chocolate web.
light; she was figuring a way to Bali when we wereIt was an early version of blotter art, so distinctive it
still stuck in the grade 3 reader; in the fourth grade,made your hair stand on end. But Sister Mary Michael
when those of us with older siblings were all agogcould not quite see that.
over Elvis, she could find nothing more passionate"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, appalled,
than Japanese prints.staring at the blotters on Anna's desk. The girl held
I remember Sister Mary Michael, the compositionup her last completed sheet; it was a masterpiece,
teacher in grade 4, who told us that writing was ancomposed entirely of lines, thick and thin, straight and
act of God and that the true writer would find hiswavy radiating from a field of chocolate centers,
share of godliness in the holy trinity of pen, papersuch that when you looked at the whole, you could
and blotter. Of the three, the blotter was the mostfeel a shift in balance, as though you were being
indispensable. "Why?" we asked. "Good writingabsorbed into the thick of things.
depends on the way you control the ink." There was"Young lady," said Sister, breaking the silence. "Do
much else that needed to be controlled as well,you think that God intended us to use blotters in this
according to Sister Mary Michael. Reading Anna'sfashion?" Anna's face dropped. "Do you think that
essay on why she liked chocolates, Sister becameGod would have approved of this?"
very still and angular. She peered down at the child,"No," said Anna eventually.
her eyes blue and hard above her spectacles. "Too"Why not ?"
many adjectives," she snapped. "Too many words!""I don't think he likes chocolates."
When Anna looked at her, unmoved, Sister retrievedAnna left school after grade 6. We did not keep in
her pen. The nib drew a fast, thin line over Anna'stouch and I had almost forgotten her until years
script; the blotter followed; there came more redlater, when I flipped through a huge and glossy
lines, more words slashed away."History of Modern Art" and was stopped mid-track
I watched Anna after she returned to her desk. Sheby Jackson Pollock; there was in his work inescapable
began writing, dabbing the blotter after her pen inshades of Anna's blotter.
true Sister Mary Michael fashion. For a while, itExpressionism--they called it.
seemed as though Anna had learnt her lesson. ButSomehow, I felt vindicated.