Today’s blog is dedicated to Professor Candace Jesse Stout at the Ohio State University. The title of the blog was actually inspired by her book, The Flower Teachers, which I am so happy to receive in the mail today. Some day, when I am done, I will surely write about it. But now, lets get back to the author.
I won’t attempt to call her Prof Stout again because I know for a fact this will not be her choice. I had been instructed, fairly early in our relationship, to just call her Candace. This probably gives you a hint about what kind of teacher she is. And thanks to her, when I became a teacher myself several years ago, I also forbade my own students from attaching any honorifics to my name.
But it wasn’t just this little detail that I inherited from her. I like to think that she taught me lots of good things, including one I consider most important – to love what I do.
I met Candace my first year in Missouri. Having to satisfy the pre-requisites to enter the Journalism School, I had to take a lot of classes in other disciplines. Between Music and Art Appreciation, I chose the later. And that was how it all began.
I remember sitting through one of her classes in darkness, listening to Starry Starry Night and wondering, what has it got to do with Art? That was how I was introduced to Vincent van Gogh. I also remember very vividly her playing some notes on the piano and asking us to think of a color associated with each note.
Fearless, and definitely encouraged by her open-ness, I decided to show her some of my pictures. She gave me some insightful critiques, and decided that they were good enough to be shared with the class.
I agreed, only if I could sit in the audience and remain incognito. Imagine, a nerdy sophomore, getting his works shown to a class of 300. It was the first public presentation of my works and a priceless experience.
Throughout the semester, I found myself visiting Candace often in her department, more than I would visit my advisor in the photojournalism department. Through her, I would meet other art teachers, including some who offered to let me attend their classes without paying.
Candace always told me I reminded her of Helge Hummelvoll, a Norwegian photographer killed in Sudan, who was also a student of her Art Appreciation class a few semesters ahead of me. I don’t quite know why but always assumed that she likes us.
In all my years in Missouri, Candace was always there for me, from being a reference for my scholarship to internship applications, to just being there to listen to me complain and boast.
Not surprisingly, we stayed in touch. I followed her trials from Georgia to Texas to Ohio (Florida in between for sure), while I myself moved several times between Singapore and the USA.
I dare say I am a much better person and photographer because I was nourished by her passion, knowledge, warmth, all of which she gives so generously. I am at least not a journalistic photographer with a limited palette because she showed me possibilities and options.
I know her book The Flower Teachers is about art teachers, their experiences, insights, etc. I have no doubt I will find many vignettes of Candace in the people she interviewed.
In her book, she had inscribed these words for me, “Students like you make it all worthwhile.” I think it is safe to substitute Students with Teachers in her case.
