I laugh when referred to as an artist – and even feel embarrassed.
I painted in school- enjoyed it, but never great…loved standing in front of the wall of inks….the bright vibrant colours shouting out at me! Our art teacher, an eccentric old lady – my history teacher’s partner – ahead of their times and the LGBT movement, taught us if nothing else, to be bold.
Life happened – art stopped. Dabbled with watercolour in 1992 after marriage using a paintbox gifted by my dad in the 70’s when he used to travel to Japan ( still have that box).
Fast forward to 2002…trying to adopt baby…needed to distract myself…took out the Japanese paint box…bought some paints and paper…painted…enjoyed it. Few months later, out little madam arrived. A relative had also made a comment, “Oh, don’t leave your job for this…!” And I was young enough to be influenced by external factors.
Zoom forward – 2020. I tried things everyone was doing – found that yeast and I just don’t get along. Mary Kom scares me. ‘Cleaning’ a cupboard, I found paints, paper….most brushes had been destroyed by a child who loved “affs and craffs” , and decided to make a card for a friend – and years of trapped colour flowed out like a volcano! I have become less conscious of what others think – other than my daughter, my biggest and most honest critic.
I know I will never be an artist ( not sure what one does to earn that title) but I am loving playing with different types of colour and paper. Social media has helped me be less critical, more carefree, enjoying the process more than the end result.
I have found my retirement “hobby” …..and pottery that I also just started!
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