By Clara Chalmers
Mrs. Hobson has been a Collingwood teacher for 32 years. To most readers, the name conjures memories of a Social Studies, or AP Human Geography; the smell of textbooks, Google Classroom blinking with assignments, rooms abuzz with conversation. Like most teachers, Mrs. Hobson is defined in the context of a classroom. A sage; injecting her lessons with humour, and discussion that echoes long after the period ends. Her “outside of school” persona is ambiguous; existent in fragments that students collect, and patch together - forming a fraying portrait that can never quite encompass her complex interests, ideas, and character.
After school, I met with Mrs. Hobson to discuss a piece of her identity often unknown to students - or at least; it had been to me. In my mind, Mrs. Hobson is classified in the Social Studies department; constrained to the academic wing - in which, she frequents her corner classroom. Yet Mrs. Hobson - Social Studies teacher, cyclist, member of the school choir - is also an artist.
Like her personality, Mrs. Hobson’s art is multilayered. Often, she starts as unaware of how a work will evolve and conclude, as “the best art is unintentional.” She is a process artist, from one of whom lingers in the in-between - revelling in the feel of clay beneath her fingers, the smell of wood at construction sites, the sight of colour, seeping across a canvas. The process, to her, provides more satisfaction than the final product. As a former student, I can attest to the energy of her classes. She draws out vitality from the stuffy corners of academia; enlivening maps, remodelling statistics into something intimate. Something a high school student could connect with.
Her artwork, similarly, pulse with life. Colour is her mainstay - she borrows a quote from artist Sheila to describe this affinity: “I love colour. I love colour so much I could eat it.” Her portfolio oozes with vibrant hues; blue that leaps out the eye, red lingering amongst muted scenery, pastel greens on creamy backdrops. Colour is a constant; the sole constant, perhaps, in her fluctuating style. “I get bored easily,” says Mrs. Hobson. And thus, the “Hobsonian” technique is eclectic; a fusion of materials and subjects - prompted by a mood or a feeling she wished to transcribe.
Despite an affinity for nature, Mrs. Hobson frequently opts for still life. That way, she can assemble her subject and create in bursts over days, weeks, or any amount of time she chooses. Her work, thus, exists in a state of flux. Unfinished; emanating not anxiety, but beauty - each piece thick with the “potential to be resolved.”
Her art is not static - and nor is her identity as an artist. In her youth, the term ‘artist’ applied to her mother, who attended painting courses at the Vancouver Academy of Art. Art is thus awash with nostalgia - but also awe. Ascribed to the “tingly feeling” that comes over her in galleries, or upon encountering a masterpiece. Her connection with creating seems preordained; and, indeed, art history courses at UBC “just came naturally.” She migrated towards artists of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth-century - among them, Picasso, David Cook, and Metis. From other eras, she plucks bits of inspiration; techniques employed by Dutch Masters, or the majesty that charges the Renaissance era.
Her transition to a teacher did not deter her ability to learn. Mrs. Hobson has interlaced her years at Collingwood with various courses, workshops, and certifications - proffered by local community centers, or universities like Emily Carr. In spring, she took oil painting courses - becoming intoxicated with the paint’s perfume, yet describing her ability as “terrible.” Pottery is her most recent passion. She relishes being consumed by her creation; the immediacy, the tactile aspect, and the complete focus of which is imperative whilst operating the wheel. Pottery, as well as being therapeutic, is also a humbling experience - novices start expecting to transform, through some mystical process, a heap of clay into a mug, or butter dish, or another object frequenting department store shelves. Mrs. Hobson has yet to accomplish this refinery. She, however, celebrates the bulges and curves of her earthenware - the imperfection, and the mistakes that differentiate handmade from machine-made. Her art is immutably human.
Mrs. Hobson has been a Collingwood teacher for 32 years. To most readers, the name conjures memories of a Social Studies, or AP Human Geography; the smell of textbooks, Google Classroom blinking with assignments, rooms abuzz with conversation. Like most teachers, Mrs. Hobson is defined in the context of a classroom. A sage; injecting her lessons with humour, and discussion that echoes long after the period ends. Her “outside of school” persona is ambiguous; existent in fragments that students collect, and patch together - forming a fraying portrait that can never quite encompass her complex interests, ideas, and character.
After school, I met with Mrs. Hobson to discuss a piece of her identity often unknown to students - or at least; it had been to me. In my mind, Mrs. Hobson is classified in the Social Studies department; constrained to the academic wing - in which, she frequents her corner classroom. Yet Mrs. Hobson - Social Studies teacher, cyclist, member of the school choir - is also an artist.
Like her personality, Mrs. Hobson’s art is multilayered. Often, she starts as unaware of how a work will evolve and conclude, as “the best art is unintentional.” She is a process artist, from one of whom lingers in the in-between - revelling in the feel of clay beneath her fingers, the smell of wood at construction sites, the sight of colour, seeping across a canvas. The process, to her, provides more satisfaction than the final product. As a former student, I can attest to the energy of her classes. She draws out vitality from the stuffy corners of academia; enlivening maps, remodelling statistics into something intimate. Something a high school student could connect with.
Her artwork, similarly, pulse with life. Colour is her mainstay - she borrows a quote from artist Sheila to describe this affinity: “I love colour. I love colour so much I could eat it.” Her portfolio oozes with vibrant hues; blue that leaps out the eye, red lingering amongst muted scenery, pastel greens on creamy backdrops. Colour is a constant; the sole constant, perhaps, in her fluctuating style. “I get bored easily,” says Mrs. Hobson. And thus, the “Hobsonian” technique is eclectic; a fusion of materials and subjects - prompted by a mood or a feeling she wished to transcribe.
Despite an affinity for nature, Mrs. Hobson frequently opts for still life. That way, she can assemble her subject and create in bursts over days, weeks, or any amount of time she chooses. Her work, thus, exists in a state of flux. Unfinished; emanating not anxiety, but beauty - each piece thick with the “potential to be resolved.”
Her art is not static - and nor is her identity as an artist. In her youth, the term ‘artist’ applied to her mother, who attended painting courses at the Vancouver Academy of Art. Art is thus awash with nostalgia - but also awe. Ascribed to the “tingly feeling” that comes over her in galleries, or upon encountering a masterpiece. Her connection with creating seems preordained; and, indeed, art history courses at UBC “just came naturally.” She migrated towards artists of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth-century - among them, Picasso, David Cook, and Metis. From other eras, she plucks bits of inspiration; techniques employed by Dutch Masters, or the majesty that charges the Renaissance era.
Her transition to a teacher did not deter her ability to learn. Mrs. Hobson has interlaced her years at Collingwood with various courses, workshops, and certifications - proffered by local community centers, or universities like Emily Carr. In spring, she took oil painting courses - becoming intoxicated with the paint’s perfume, yet describing her ability as “terrible.” Pottery is her most recent passion. She relishes being consumed by her creation; the immediacy, the tactile aspect, and the complete focus of which is imperative whilst operating the wheel. Pottery, as well as being therapeutic, is also a humbling experience - novices start expecting to transform, through some mystical process, a heap of clay into a mug, or butter dish, or another object frequenting department store shelves. Mrs. Hobson has yet to accomplish this refinery. She, however, celebrates the bulges and curves of her earthenware - the imperfection, and the mistakes that differentiate handmade from machine-made. Her art is immutably human.
Despite her experience, Mrs. Hobson imparts her wisdom ascribed to a question mark. She is a process artist - with a process philosophy. Our conversation twisted down various murky junctions and prickly philosophies. Mrs. Hobson maintains an acute sensitivity to her surroundings; her mind teems with thoughts, glimmering bits of knowledge, and doubts that, occasionally, can clog her ability to create.
“I so desperately want to be good at (art)...but I don’t really know what that means anymore. The more I do it, the more humility I discover, and the more realistic I become - to the point that I wonder, why should I do this if it has already been done in this postmodern world of expression? [A world where] you can go and buy that, and you can take a photograph, print it off...”
Her expectations soar - to the point that she toils at her craft, mind congested with how her audience might react. “I so want to be wanted.” Mrs. Hobson is attuned to her critics. While the rivers of paint cascade down her sink, and her brushes, bristles crushed and bent, tossed into the trash. She imprints an indent on the earth by doing what she loves.
Sometimes, it is not enough to simply “enjoy” art. Mrs. Hobson is compelled by it. “I can’t not do it.” Despite her share of doubts, she persists. Searching for a space untethered to her doubts - free from self-consciousness. Painting allows her to capture the transient; moments in her life that will pass, and fade; losing a bit of its sheen. A year ago, Mrs. Hobson occupied a rental house with a stunning view of the harbour. She had limited time and space but managed to preserve this view on canvas. “Art doesn’t wait for space,” she states, “it will find a way.” This painting was gifted to her daughter - as one of the few that is “truly resolved.” At times, Mrs. Hobson regrets this lack of closure that defines her portfolio. There is a sense that she wants something finite. A cohesion. A purpose. To reach the point in which her art can promote conversation. Art should not be burdened by self-consciousness - though nor should it exist just for the sake of creating. Mrs. Hobson believes the best art is embedded by meaning. A feeling - a mood, or a message. A seed planted by the artist - and cultivated by the audience. I asked her how she would like her viewers to interpret her work. She replied, “it is in the eyes of the beholder.”
Creativity is like a raw material, present in all - propagated with dedication. To Mrs. Hobson, time is imperative to art. She has been bequeathed with the resources, and compulsion, to hone her craft. Teaching, for example, allows for daily practice of creativity. “It is one of the most creative professions I know.”
Mrs. Hobson is multilayered - yet her creativity imbues each of these layers. Her artist eye never slumbers - it is active; observing, analyzing, rearranging stale ideas to yield something new. She seems locked in a cycle of creating; of weaving conversation, forging lesson plans, baking, painting, moulding, and, most of all, evolving.
“I so desperately want to be good at (art)...but I don’t really know what that means anymore. The more I do it, the more humility I discover, and the more realistic I become - to the point that I wonder, why should I do this if it has already been done in this postmodern world of expression? [A world where] you can go and buy that, and you can take a photograph, print it off...”
Her expectations soar - to the point that she toils at her craft, mind congested with how her audience might react. “I so want to be wanted.” Mrs. Hobson is attuned to her critics. While the rivers of paint cascade down her sink, and her brushes, bristles crushed and bent, tossed into the trash. She imprints an indent on the earth by doing what she loves.
Sometimes, it is not enough to simply “enjoy” art. Mrs. Hobson is compelled by it. “I can’t not do it.” Despite her share of doubts, she persists. Searching for a space untethered to her doubts - free from self-consciousness. Painting allows her to capture the transient; moments in her life that will pass, and fade; losing a bit of its sheen. A year ago, Mrs. Hobson occupied a rental house with a stunning view of the harbour. She had limited time and space but managed to preserve this view on canvas. “Art doesn’t wait for space,” she states, “it will find a way.” This painting was gifted to her daughter - as one of the few that is “truly resolved.” At times, Mrs. Hobson regrets this lack of closure that defines her portfolio. There is a sense that she wants something finite. A cohesion. A purpose. To reach the point in which her art can promote conversation. Art should not be burdened by self-consciousness - though nor should it exist just for the sake of creating. Mrs. Hobson believes the best art is embedded by meaning. A feeling - a mood, or a message. A seed planted by the artist - and cultivated by the audience. I asked her how she would like her viewers to interpret her work. She replied, “it is in the eyes of the beholder.”
Creativity is like a raw material, present in all - propagated with dedication. To Mrs. Hobson, time is imperative to art. She has been bequeathed with the resources, and compulsion, to hone her craft. Teaching, for example, allows for daily practice of creativity. “It is one of the most creative professions I know.”
Mrs. Hobson is multilayered - yet her creativity imbues each of these layers. Her artist eye never slumbers - it is active; observing, analyzing, rearranging stale ideas to yield something new. She seems locked in a cycle of creating; of weaving conversation, forging lesson plans, baking, painting, moulding, and, most of all, evolving.