watercolour pencils, strangers, and crossing paths.

i slouch in a cushioned blue chair facing my suitcase of art supplies, my longboard and a backpack, awaiting the three hour train journey ahead. A few stops into my trip, a young Aboriginal woman and her blonde daughter board the train. 

‘Mags, sit ‘ere’ she says to her child.

They sit across the isle from me and spread out their assortment of shopping bags and dolls. The woman leans over and asks me if there are any powerpoints on the train. I kindly respond with a no, and ‘well, they really should’. She proceeds to pull out her laptop anyway, and starts playing an assortment of popular rap/hip hop music. I note that the elders on the train weren’t particularly pleased, but I didn’t mind. My phone had died a few days proir, so the opportunity to listen to music, regardless of what it was, was appreciated. 

The child, who I learn is named ‘Megan’, explores the train and starts climbing over chairs, pointing at ‘water, Mum!’, ‘glass’ and ‘lakes’ as she makes her way through a bag of chips. Her mother isn’t paying too much attention, but happily returns a ‘is that right?’, ‘that’s great, Mags’ to each excited remark.

I look up from my novel and decide I ought to offer the child something new to do. I reach into a paper bag I had resting by my side and bring out my favourite Inktense Watercolour Pencils and my favourite watercolour pad. I offer it to the child. For once, I forgot the expenses and the risk of never getting my favourite supplies back. I wanted to see the child happy and entertained. 

Megan looks at me wide-eyed, and silently accepts my offer. She takes them from my hands, and sits down with her mum and starts to scribble with colours over the page, dropping pencils as she went. Her mother looks up and graciously thanks me. I return to my novel feeling content. Why not share?

After some time, the woman asks me what the pencils were and how to use them. I brought out a paintbrush I use, that stores water in the pen itself and showed them the effects made. Megan became awfully excited at the revelation. A young woman leaned in, who was sitting behind the Aboriginal woman and asked me a few questions regarding the pencils. She had never seen a paintbrush like mine, or pencils as vibrant. I noted her strong accent.

We begun to talk. The Aboriginal woman asked me what art I did and I showed her some of the things I had made over the weekend. The two women were very interested, and asked many questions. I showed them masks and told them of all sorts of recycled materails they would have around their own home to achieve the same effects. They were amazed.

Megan had become restless, so I offered her my art journal.

‘Hey, Megan- do you think you could draw me a pretty picture in my art journal?’

She nodded and went on her merry way.

I explained the journal, and how I was planning to send it to a friend in a week for his contribution. I asked the two woman what kind of art they were into. The Aboriginal woman told me that she lived in an Aboriginal community, in which she made a lot of large artworks in their traditional dot painting style. She also wrote poetry and was beginning a business in which she encouraged written expression. The woman with the strong accent told me she enjoyed watercolour and was interested in the work I did.

We spent the next hour talking about life, and how art is essential to the growth of human spirit… how each one of us are so similar and often so scared to talk about those ‘big questions’. I learned alot about the two women, both aged 30. The Aboriginal woman had four children. She told us that she had given birth to one out the front of a hospital in front of hundreds of people on a cold Winter’s day. She explained that when she saw her baby, she new instantly she should be named ‘Summer Rose’ because despite the tempterature, her daughter warmed her heart. Her sister was in gaol, and she told of some heartbreaking stories she had witnessed in amoungst her community. The woman with the strong accent was from Toronto, Canada and was visiting Australia for a week. She remarked that she found Australia ‘absolutely beautiful… everything… all the people are so nice…’

As our destination was in sight; Central Station, I kindly asked the Aboriginal woman to write me a poem for my journal. She pulled out her own and started drafting. I continued to speak with the Canadian woman and managed to convince her that she couldn’t go home without trying some Vegemite- on EVERYTHING. I gave her my journal to write down her email, so I could send her the poem the Aboriginal woman was writing. Underneath her email she scrawled; ‘Thankyou for a lovely train ride that bright up my day :)’. I decided I would purchase the same paintbrush and pencils that I had that she was interested in and send them to her. A few hours later I had them purchased and packaged ready to post the following day.

Her name was Cinthia. I asked the Aboriginal woman her name, and she responded with ‘Bambi’.

Ruby, Cinthia and Bambi. Three women walking completely different paths in life, finding similarities in art. How wonderful that moment was.

Bambi begun to read out her poem on the train before she gave it to me;

‘Keep you’re mind open
and youre spirit high
the world is now at your feet
so aim for the sky

make your vision’s come true
so we all can see
the talent you possess
is truly unique

i look at you’re face
so fresh and young
i know a good life 
for you is one that will be filled
with happiness and wisdom.

so live you’re life and never look back
keep your dream’s alive
keep walking youre track.

you know where you’re going
and what you want to do
so now ill say
im glad to have met you.

love Bambi. 2011. <3’

My inner grammar Nazi was left behind- a great acceptance and appreciation of personal experience, art and poetry was adopted.

The train pulls in at Central and we begin gathering our things. I accept my pencils back, and thank them for making my train ride truly special. I wheel my suitcase off the train and we seperate. We jump back onto our paths, after they were all so purposly intertwined, feeling uplifted and inspired.

Perfect strangers, I’m glad to have met you.