I was shocked this morning (January 23rd) to hear of the death of Tim Nugent, whom I worked with for one year in Venezuela. I chanced to look at the Facebook page of Ian Rysdale, and there it was – Ians RIP message along with a slew of replies from other friends of Tim. Ian had posted some of Tims paintings along with the words: Just a few memories of our amazing Mr Tim! And perhaps inspiration for some budding artists out there. Love you Timski... always... RIP... and if theres a heaven and youre there, there will be art, music, laughter and smiles abounding!! I assumed Tim had just passed away, but Ian later informed me hed died of cancer over two years ago in Vancouver. The news hadnt reached me at the time.
Tim was not a great friend; we spent very little time together, but on the few occasions we socialized, we got along and he made a big impression on me.
Tim was the music teacher at the International School of Monagas in Maturin, Venezuela, from 1998–99. Ian Rysdale, the Headmaster, hired me and several other teachers hed previously worked with, including Tim whom he
Tim was older than me, but he had the high spirits and joie de vivre of a teenager. He was a ball of energy, the personification of Thoreaus dictum: I will live deep and suck out all the marrow of life and not, when to die, discover I have not lived.
Tim was an unconventional music teacher. Whenever I entered his classroom, the students were happily and noisily engaged in making music. Tims music lessons were jam sessions or ‘sonic events, as he described them. He had no time for musical theory or book work. This made him very popular with the students, who adored his style, but it got him into trouble with the conservative board of governors. And there was also the fact that the walls of his classroom were covered in graffiti. In the eyes of the board he was a bad influence, a loose cannon who had to go. They made him an offer to leave after one year – halfway through his contract - and, when Tim refused, they improved their offer. Tim accepted and duly left.
advice about where to go next. I had fallen in love with the island of Tobago and advised Tim to head for Charlotteville, a lovely seaside village on the eastern tip. Tim took my advice and spent six months in Charlotteville. More about that later.
In Maturin, most of us teachers lived in an apartment block. Tim didnt; he lived in a villa with a garden. I was seldom invited there, but just before leaving, Tim gave me a key and asked me to visit the house, take anything I fancied and rescue his cat, which he had to leave behind. I did as instructed, found the cat miaowing in the garden, put it in a box and gave it away to a teacher. The house was full of Tims unwanted stuff, and I helped myself to a painting and a very nice silk tie with a clarinet on it. Over 20 years later I still have that tie. More about the painting later.
As I say, I had little to do with Tim. We moved in different circles. One reason was marijuana. I have never been a smoker, but Tim loved his Mary Jane and hung
out with fellow addicts. Unlike some of the smokers Ive known, Tim was not lethargic and withdrawn but always on fire. He was fun to be with, full of energy, bubbling with conversation and ideas.
While living in Maturin, Tim started to paint, and painting became his ruling passion. After school, he would paint canvases He had a distinctive style – very bold, very colourful and often very funny. One day I visited him at his house as he was finishing a picture of a man with curly hair and closed eyes, playing a guitar – a more or less. Tim was repainting the original white background a vivid yellow. I was mightily impressed and asked him if I could buy it. Make me an offer, he said. I offered $100. Tim replied: And buy me dinner and drinks tonight. I agreed.
