OILFIELDS AND ART SHOWS

My hometown sat on the oil patch. Flat land that stretched out into the horizon. I could look out and see for miles, and yet, it felt like there was nowhere to go.

Everyone knew their place. The men worked on the rigs, and the women kept things running. One day, we would all do the same. Turning a wrench for rural Alberta’s pot of gold. And once we had it, we’d all be driving fast cars and lifted trucks. For many, that was perfectly fine. 

Not me. I daydreamed constantly about different places, different experiences. I couldn’t stop thinking about things that interested me, rather than working at things that didn’t. Other kids called me “weird.” When I struggled in school, my mother asked my teachers if something about me might be different than the others:

“He’s just lazy. It’s probably because he’s an only child and you’ve spoiled him.”

But she was right. Something was different. While others played hockey, I researched it, learning about players long retired. I obsessed over logos and uniforms, drawing them out in my head the way I thought they should look. While the others hunted and fished, I watched TV, read internet articles and opined to myself on what I saw. I would talk to myself as though I was talking to an audience about what I had seen, trying to make my words sound professional like in the articles I had read.

I was a creative in need of an outlet, but I didn’t know it. And it didn’t matter: our town was built on oil. We didn’t need the arts, we needed workers. Exasperated teachers attempted in vain to introduce us to new ideas, but everything we saw around us told us that the arts were for “weird city people,” not for us.

And I believed that.

By the time I reached my late twenties, I had been employed in labour jobs for years. Every attempt I made to leave for the city resulted in me being overwhelmed by the faster pace of life and constant interaction with strangers. My brain rebelled against trying anything new. I learned to act just like everyone else, even though it was never authentic. I stayed out late and drank with my friends, not knowing what else to do.

I looked for help and sought out counselling. My therapist worked with me to get sober and strive for a better life for myself. I enrolled in Red Deer College (now Red Deer Polytechnic) for Communications and learned to love writing. I got so good at it that whenever our class would do group projects, I would have several people approach me to join their group. When I finished my two-year diploma, I accepted an internship here in Kelowna.

Unfortunately, due to COVID, my internship fell through, and my first years here were difficult. I couldn’t find work with my diploma.

Although I struggled, I made the most of what Kelowna had to offer. I spent more time outdoors, I played sports, and lost weight. My continuing therapy helped me discover and accept myself as a neurodivergent adult. I stopped trying to fix the way my brain works and started learning to use it. I have returned to school to turn my Communications diploma into a full degree. I met new and interesting people like my girlfriend, who has exposed me to new activities that I never would have had, like hiking and paddleboarding. For the first time, I began to accept new experiences, and when she suggested we check out an art gallery, I was intrigued.

The gallery was wonderful. The colours, the creativity and the skill displayed reached me in ways that art never had before. I had found a place in the world where creativity wasn’t looked down upon, but rather celebrated and embraced, and I had learned to appreciate it myself. 

In September, I visited Vancouver for the first time. I had a great week, visiting the Vancouver Art Gallery and UBC Museums, among other sights. But one thing that struck me were the billboards advertising schools and extracurricular groups for children in the arts.

I wished I had grown up in a place where the arts were celebrated. Where my early desires to express myself had been encouraged. Where my neurological differences would have been addressed rather than held up as marks against me.

Fortunately, I’ve got lots of positives. In the last year, I have been to multiple art shows, galleries and museums. I have taken in local concerts, comedy shows and even Cirque du Soleil. My apartment, once barren of any decoration, is now adorned with the works of local artist Sarah Gagnon. My world, once shaded in the cold grey of industry has been opened to the colourful glow of the arts.

The Kelowna Arts Council has graciously offered me my first writing gig with this weekly blog, and I’m extremely thankful for my first opportunity to share my own art with the world. I hope to use it to give back to the city that gave me my vision, and I’ll be covering all sorts of things here, like local artists, events and shows. I’ll also be posting content highlighting the effects of the arts on neurodivergent people like me. While I’m saddened that I’ve missed out on a lot in my life, I count myself lucky that I get to experience it all for the first time. I’ve got tons of things to see, and I hope you’ll join me!

Written by Brent Stempfle