I didn't know what to expect when we arrived at Pigmentation's studio after school on Tuesday. The studio was behind some shops near Malvern Road.
'Is this it?' mum asked, eyeing the custom-made steel door, set back discreetly in a brown brick building.
'I guess,' I said. I knocked on the door, took a step back and waited.
The door swung open. Pigmentation was standing there in blue baggy jeans and an oversized printed jumper. 'Ivy, welcome,' she said, and then she turned to my mother, 'Hi, I'm Sophie,' she said, 'Nice to meet you.'
'I'm Gillian,' mum said. 'Ivy is very excited about this opportunity.'
'Come through,' Ivy said. 'I never apologise for my mess.' We stepped inside, taking in the sight of her studio; the red Turkish rugs on the concrete floor, the wooden workbench with glass jars full of pencils and felt-tip pens, the stacked canvases leaning against a wall, an industrial-sized fan in the centre of the studio, a wooden piano in one corner, a chaise lounge in the other, a bottle of turpentine and a dirty rag on a shelf, a rusty metal drum with a silver lamp, and a Hills Hoist clothes line pole, complete with a winder, leant against the wall.
'I'm going to do something with that clothes line one day,' Pigmentation said. 'I just haven't worked out what, yet.'
There was industrial shelving along one wall filled with books and art supplies. Mum and I walked over to the other wall, where there were large sheets of paper pinned to the wall where Pigmentation had been drawing three children with antlers.
'I love these,' I said.
Mum turned to a metal bench, where there were three canvases leant against a wall, each at a different stage – one with just the background roughly painted in, another with a background and figure penciled in, and another with a background and figured roughly painted.
'Do you work on more than one painting at a time?' mum asked.
'Yeah, those are in oils, so I have to wait for the paint to dry. I've always got a dozen things on the go at once. That way I never get bored. Whether it's painting, or a drawing, or something three dimensional – I can arrive at the studio and work on whatever takes my fancy.'
Mum flipped open her phone case and looked at the time on her iPhone. And then she moved over to look at a painting above the piano.
Pigmentation turned to me and said, 'It's such good timing for you to start. You'll never believe it, last week I got a call from Tim Hopkins at Gallery Squared. He wants me to do a solo show next year using the whole gallery. He's giving me total freedom. I've wanted to do something like this for years – I'm going to go from 2D to 3D, something where people can move around my works and be part of the space. What's the point of showing works in a white cube?
'I want to exhibit a series of photographs from a project I did in Manila last year. I worked with a local photographer and he must have taken thousands of shots. I'd love you to go through the photos and select the best. I'm not looking for poverty porn, I'm looking for photos that celebrate the positive stories in those communities. I'm getting ahead of myself. Sorry, I didn't mean to pounce. I'm just so excited to have you here. You're a collaborator as much as an assistant, got it?'
'Got it,' I said, smiling putting my backpack under a wooden workbench. I breathed it in; the smell of turpentine and oil paints and felt tip pens. She was playing The Cure on the stereo. Mum had her hands in her long black cardigan. She was looking at works as though she was looking at signs in a foreign language.
After doing a full circuit of the studio and confirming that Pigmentation was unlikely to be a serial killer, that she was in fact an artist, she came over and said, 'Okay, I'll be off then,' she said. 'I'll pick Ivy up at six, yes?'
'That'd be great,' Pigmentation said. Mum looked at me, quietly, as though she was about to say something. But then decided against it.
'Okay. I'll see you then,' she said, and made her way out the door.
Pigmentation brewed us each a cup of green tea and we sat at her workbench where she was half way through outlining a Filipino boy on a canvas. 'I've made a list of all the things I'd like you to do. I'm kind of anal like that.' She moved her hands like she was organising thoughts in the air. 'This afternoon, I'd like you to help with some cutouts in plywood. I'm experimenting with ideas for the Gallery Squared show. Have you ever used a rotary tool before?' I shook my head. 'It's simple, I'll teach you. How are you with social media? I can't stand it. But everyone keeps telling me I have to do it.' I could tell she was as excited about me being here as I was – that this marked something important in her journey as an artist. Her work had become so busy she needed to outsource. My heart beat eagerly; I'd never cut plywood before, but I could learn. I wanted to learn. So much. I heard about the jobs she wanted me to do. Her enthusiasm was infectious. I was so grateful to have become this phenomenal woman's apprentice.