First

person

CHRISTINE ANGELL

gave up a career to

pursue her dream,

but was then devastated

to lose her hearing within

a few short months

Linked magazine Spring 2006

My Poem

FOR AS LONG as I can remember I have been sketching, painting and print-making, something my father encouraged in me from my childhood in Oxford and after we moved to Kent when I was eight.

As an adult, the need to work and earn a living got in the way of being a ‘proper’ (in other words full-time) artist: I worked for Parent Partnership, a local network supporting and enabling parents and carers of children with special educational needs, was principal of a college for blind and partially-sighted people, a specialist careers officer... the list goes on.

But I finally reached the stage where I thought: “Well, if I don’t do it now I may go to my grave not knowing if I have a masterpiece inside me.” And so, on my 56th birthday in December 2003, and with the support of my truly wonderful husband Michael, I handed in my notice at work and started to paint full-time. I also signed up for a part-time Access to Learning course (for adults who wish to gain access to University) at Kent Institute for Art and Design, Maidstone, where I met so many wonderfully enthusiastic and talented people. Before I knew it, the summer holidays had arrived – but we students were all frantically working on our summer projects, for which I had undertaken a series of paintings inspired by a stage musical I had appeared in that June. I was also preparing works for a five-week exhibition the following September.

The sun was shining, life was busy and interesting – everything

was wonderful... When suddenly, I lost my hearing.

Down so far it looked like up 

I’d never had a hearing problem before, so I thought I ‘only’ had an ear infection and left it for a week before visiting my GP.

I was able to use my husbands insurance scheme to see the consultant early. But within three months I was suffering from acquired profound hearing loss, had been bullied by a hearing aid salesman for not buying two of his devices there and then (he wouldn’t even give me a copy of the audiogram), and at the opening of my exhibition – a private view for invited guests only – I couldn’t hear a word anyone was saying. And it just got worse: I had arranged to be the ‘artist in residence’ each Wednesday whilst my exhibition was showing – but that became the day I had to see my ENT consultant to check how much hearing I had lost each week (and to see if the steroids I was taking could prevent all my hearing from disappearing completely): I saw a note in my visitors’ book that a group of people had come to see me at the exhibition but I hadn’t been there, and this merely compounded my feelings of inadequacy and failure. On returning to college, all those people who knew me before were shocked to discover my hearing loss, but were amazingly supportive and helpful as communication became ever more complex. I just felt like a baby, helpless and frustrated that I could no longer join in the jokey banter in the studio. That was eighteen months ago.

Since then – being determined not to miss out on visitors, who can be such a source of stimulation – I have established myself at South East Open Studios, where people visit to view my work and where children love using my communicator (although some get so carried away pretending to be pop singers I fear they’ll walk off with it).

Previously I had always painted with BBC Radio 4 playing in the background. I loved the plays and the news programmes, and found the sound of the human voice stimulating to my brushwork and could lose myself in both. Now I only have the sound of my tinnitus to accompany my work. The extent of my hearing loss means that I wear dual hearing aids and also use a multi-channel radio system. If I close my eyes and use a loop system I can catch some speakers, especially if I know the context and subject matter. But I get a bit stuffed if speakers have an accent, or when they change the subject or laugh or play background music – so Play for Today is off my agenda. The ironic thing is that the harder I listen, the louder the tinnitus becomes, so it pays to be relaxed when listening.

Another difference is that I find my work to be much more intense than before – not in the output, but in the process. I realise now that while I was losing my hearing my artwork was predominantly black and-white and remained that way for a nine-month period: perhaps my brain had enough to cope with, so colour didn’t appear. Now however, I am back to using colour and undertaking a lot more printing than before – something I really enjoy, because it combines technical skill with the excitement of not knowing what will come out.

The complete picture

I am now undertaking a part-time Fine Art degree at University College

for the Creative Arts in Canterbury, with people who have only ever known me as a deafened person; this is quite a reassuring phenomenon, as I don’t have to contend with the “oh dear, what a shame,” syndrome. I’m not saying I don’t want the occasional sympathy, but give me clear light, good lip patterns – and face me when you talk to me!

This year I will be undertaking two exhibitions at Open Studios in June, I am attending University College, I’m even a member of Kent County Council (where I’m making an impact in ‘disability awareness’), and I’m loving every minute of it all.

Deafness is just another part of an increasingly rich picture. So if you’re thinking that you wished you could paint or draw, my answer is: just do it. Whether as part of a class or on your own, painting and drawing is something anyone can do. And let’s face it – if you can’t hear, you don’t get all those chattering diversions...