I found this unpublished post from 2010 lurking in the mechanism of the Blog... Funny, as I've just finished my 3rd Panto, indeed my 7th or 8th production with my theatre group, and things have galloped on apace since then...
Good day, Me Hearties. I hope the world is treating you kindly today, and that you are doing likewise unto it.
I have been to my Art Class this morning, (I use Title Case because it is important to me, as you will learn if you read on...) which I enjoyed, despite the fact I only produced a work of monumental crapulence in an attempt at monoprinting today. Rather like a dollop of seagull poo on a windscreen, (see? Art in nature, marvellous..).
I embarked upon Mixed-Media Art Classes, (through Haringey Adult Learning Service) about 18 months ago, having done nothing visually creative, in the arty sense, since school, many hundreds of years before.
Around the same time I joined a newly-forming local drama group, having done none of that since school either, (my goodness, I was a busy schoolgirl) so both new ventures were, for me, a huge step forward in scratching an authentic itch, as it were. Just doing something for no other reason than I wanted to.
Over the years I had often idly googled and trawled through listings, searching for classes and groups, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Then, eighteen months ago, the arty planets were indeed aligning. For a couple of weeks there I seemed to stumble upon the very leaflets and fliers containing exactly the two activities I wanted to do, in exactly the right places at exactly the right times. Almost as if it was meant to be...
But who would have thought my brain would make it so flippin' complicated!
Angst? Angst? I didn't know the meaning of the word (or indeed how to spell it) until that first mixed media day in January 2009...
Our teacher, Julia, was wonderful - kind, patient, encouraging and seemed to see value in every bumbling attempt, but during that first session I was amazed what a bundle of emotional weirdness I turned out to be!
I never expected to be a great artist, but neither did I expect, when, as a starting point, were asked to close our eyes and just draw a doodle, that I would find myself having to leave the room as I was close to tears. What was that about?
The dialogue in my head went something like this:-
"What shall I draw?"
"Draw a doodle"
"What like?"
"Just let your pencil make a shape on the page"
"I can't. What shape? I can't draw! What if it's rubbish? I can't. It will be a waste of paper, and a waste of time and I'll never be any good at it and it will be horrible Oh my god I'm hopeless at this. What's the point? It's all a terrible waste of everyone's time and I cant do it...Waaaaaa!" etc etc
You get the picture? (Ha! picture...)
I think, if I analyse my reaction,
I thought I was very laid-back, easy going and creative, but for a while now I have begun to realise that I am incredibly competitive in a rather closet sense. A Closet Competitive, if you will. And I was a long way from my comfort zone in a room full of strangers. I didn't know what to do, or how to be any good and I felt panicky.
If ever the sage-like words of the great philosopher, Nike, were needed, it was at that moment.
"Just Do It!" I said to myself (very quietly, you understand).
I drew something. Just a wiggly line at first, but it was enough to crack open the fear and get me started.
Since then I have wrestled my many, many demons, wept tears of self-conscious frustration and had a multitude of hissy fits, but I have also had the most a fabulous time and laughed my artistic little head off rehearsing, performing in a fantastic play and pantomime, and rather proudly exhibiting my first attempts at visual art in Hornsey Library (on a Nobo Board to the right of the photocopier).
