I am the first one here, inevitably, hating to come when any eyes might be upon me (as if the whole world is waiting for, looking at, me me me me me me me.)
The room is essentially as I imagined it: big, bright; holding about twenty slightly sloping white desks (they probably have a proper name) – suitable for art work.
A nice man named Andrew has just appeared. He is, he told me, in a basic drawing class on Monday nights (voila!) and – wait – here come a group of women and they seem to know one another. They like this classroom better than one of the women liked the art room at Northern District School, wherever that is (although I can guess at least part of the location). (Apparently, this messy issue made the local news.)
About ten minutes ago as I walked toward the school, I came past a group of footballers (Glee), who looked raring to go out on the field. It’s a beautiful evening – warm and glowing – and just right, I imagine, for playing football.
Meantime, I can’t believe I’m in an art class – acrylic painting – and although I am incapable of drawing a stick figure, I do have an eye (just one), or so I’m told, for colour, having tested a perfect 200 on the dichromatic colour scale. (I made the name up just now because I can’t remember what it was called; it was a colour-identification test we used for ophthalmic patients.)
The atmosphere feels a bit church-like, the teacher looking a little under the weather as she pulls her supplies out of her bag and stands, very tired it seems, in front of the now eight or so attendees. Class begins in five minutes.
~
Well, class began, lasted three enjoyable hours, then ended. Had I anything to show for it, good or bad, I might have posted it here, but I took the high road and tossed my first experimental sketches along with my blob-test of some of the new paints I got last weekend. Other than that, though, I do plan on keeping a record of my work and, as bad as it will likely be, am happy to share with anyone who thinks they aren’t talented enough to take an art class. If I can do it, you can, too!
Besides, I think it will be fun to post something other than migraine-inducing diatribes against horrible politicians and badly scripted films, or put up poetry that isn’t mine. (Although, poetry that is mine….)
The teacher, as it turned out, might have been tired, but she was knowledgeable, prepared, patient, and helpful, and who could possibly ask for more than that (unless it came on a plate with a side of pickles)?
I have to go now, because in the morning I must go out and buy several paint brushes (I can’t remember even half of what I learned about them last night), some kind of board (masonite: I looked it up), a few knives (painting and matte), some glosses and mixers (Oh: gloss medium, modelling paste and retarder), and a plastic tablecloth. Sounds like a forensic experiment, I know, but ladies and gentlemen – this is art!
