Life Imitates Art
Artwork by Saugus resident and artist Naomi Young. Courtesy photo
By Signal Contributor
Wednesday, February 7th, 2018

By Naomi Young, Saugus Community Contributor

 

I could barely see through the shutters in his office but I could hear children playing in the backyard. They were playing tag, yelling at each other, giggling and laughing out loud. I was trying my best to listen to what the man sitting behind the desk was saying to me. I don’t really remember where I heard about this graphologist or who gave me his name and address. I was in my late teens when I heard that he was the best in the field of graphology, analyzing hand writing.  I took two busses and walked from the bus stop for 10 more minutes to get to his house. I walked through quaint and narrow alleys in a very nice and quiet neighborhood. I only regretted not making my appointment earlier in the day to avoid the noise of his children playing outside his office window.

He was wearing a striped blue shirt and his big glasses were sitting very low on the bridge of his nose. I thought that the dark square frames of his eye-glasses were too big for his thin yet good looking face. He had dark long straight hair that every once in a while fell over his eyes.  That bothered me as I kept wishing I could move his hair for him so that he could better concentrate on the paper in front of him. After all, he was decoding my hand writing very closely. Every letter in that mysterious art revealed a world of hidden information about my essence. The way I wrote a letter, scrolled and open it or closed it tightly showed him whether I’m outgoing or I’m an introvert. Whether my handwriting looked crowded, neat, in a straight line, crooked or sloppy told him plenty about my character. Graphology is old art and he seemed like a very knowledgeable man who could read between the lines too.

What he had to tell me could mean nothing at all to me or it could design and shape my future.

“The way you curl your letters in a fancy way is telling me that you like aesthetics, anything that’s easy on the eye and pretty. You pay attention to details”. He said in a low voice weighing every word carefully.  “You have a keen eye for design and beauty. In the future you could be an artist, a painter or a designer”, he continued talking slowly, looking at me from time to time, reading my facial expressions. Me?  An artist!?  I’ve never even had the luxury of having my own crayon box as a child. What do I really know about art? I’ve always enjoyed looking at art but I don’t know if I painted long enough to know if I’m good at it or not.  Is this new information going to change my life and shape who I am? Should I believe it?  These questions came to mind and they could only be answered in time.

I smiled and thanked him and wasn’t sure whether I should give any power to his words. Did I believe him? Did I believe in myself?

Well, looking back in retrospect at that written piece of paper he gave me, I wonder if I ended up getting my interior design degree because I “was supposed to” follow that route.  Was that a subconscious decision to enroll in Interior Design school?  Obviously, I didn’t have to take night classes for a few years leaving my three young children at home if I wasn’t enjoying it. I didn’t do it for him. My passion and love for design and beauty is in me. Nobody can make me do anything I don’t want to or feel the love for it if I don’t. All the art classes I have taken were at my own will and decision, but which came first?

I wish I could go back and visit him to tell him that his predictions came true and that I do love and enjoy being an artist and paint almost every single day. I would thank him for steering me in the right direction. His guidance, without a doubt influenced my thinking.

 

I do not believe that I’ll ever see him again but I wish that I could tell my young self to trust in herself, to trust that someday she would bloom and become an achieved artist in painting, mosaic and sculpture. I would tell her to just relax and continue discovering her talents while enjoying the journey.

 

With a little help of my friend I received a message that changed my life. I found out that life imitated art. Or was it art that imitated life? Hmm

About the author

Signal Contributor

Signal Contributor

Artwork by Saugus resident and artist Naomi Young. Courtesy photo

Life Imitates Art

By Naomi Young, Saugus Community Contributor

 

I could barely see through the shutters in his office but I could hear children playing in the backyard. They were playing tag, yelling at each other, giggling and laughing out loud. I was trying my best to listen to what the man sitting behind the desk was saying to me. I don’t really remember where I heard about this graphologist or who gave me his name and address. I was in my late teens when I heard that he was the best in the field of graphology, analyzing hand writing.  I took two busses and walked from the bus stop for 10 more minutes to get to his house. I walked through quaint and narrow alleys in a very nice and quiet neighborhood. I only regretted not making my appointment earlier in the day to avoid the noise of his children playing outside his office window.

He was wearing a striped blue shirt and his big glasses were sitting very low on the bridge of his nose. I thought that the dark square frames of his eye-glasses were too big for his thin yet good looking face. He had dark long straight hair that every once in a while fell over his eyes.  That bothered me as I kept wishing I could move his hair for him so that he could better concentrate on the paper in front of him. After all, he was decoding my hand writing very closely. Every letter in that mysterious art revealed a world of hidden information about my essence. The way I wrote a letter, scrolled and open it or closed it tightly showed him whether I’m outgoing or I’m an introvert. Whether my handwriting looked crowded, neat, in a straight line, crooked or sloppy told him plenty about my character. Graphology is old art and he seemed like a very knowledgeable man who could read between the lines too.

What he had to tell me could mean nothing at all to me or it could design and shape my future.

“The way you curl your letters in a fancy way is telling me that you like aesthetics, anything that’s easy on the eye and pretty. You pay attention to details”. He said in a low voice weighing every word carefully.  “You have a keen eye for design and beauty. In the future you could be an artist, a painter or a designer”, he continued talking slowly, looking at me from time to time, reading my facial expressions. Me?  An artist!?  I’ve never even had the luxury of having my own crayon box as a child. What do I really know about art? I’ve always enjoyed looking at art but I don’t know if I painted long enough to know if I’m good at it or not.  Is this new information going to change my life and shape who I am? Should I believe it?  These questions came to mind and they could only be answered in time.

I smiled and thanked him and wasn’t sure whether I should give any power to his words. Did I believe him? Did I believe in myself?

Well, looking back in retrospect at that written piece of paper he gave me, I wonder if I ended up getting my interior design degree because I “was supposed to” follow that route.  Was that a subconscious decision to enroll in Interior Design school?  Obviously, I didn’t have to take night classes for a few years leaving my three young children at home if I wasn’t enjoying it. I didn’t do it for him. My passion and love for design and beauty is in me. Nobody can make me do anything I don’t want to or feel the love for it if I don’t. All the art classes I have taken were at my own will and decision, but which came first?

I wish I could go back and visit him to tell him that his predictions came true and that I do love and enjoy being an artist and paint almost every single day. I would thank him for steering me in the right direction. His guidance, without a doubt influenced my thinking.

 

I do not believe that I’ll ever see him again but I wish that I could tell my young self to trust in herself, to trust that someday she would bloom and become an achieved artist in painting, mosaic and sculpture. I would tell her to just relax and continue discovering her talents while enjoying the journey.

 

With a little help of my friend I received a message that changed my life. I found out that life imitated art. Or was it art that imitated life? Hmm