Art Class

When plotting out my plan for the winter months, I thought I'd be watching baby Joe for January and February, and I could wait until sometime in March to figure out how I spend my time in retirement. I obviously amused Someone with this plan, because shortly before I was to start, his parents decided to start him in his permanent daycare as soon as Rita-Marie went back to work, so he'd only have to adjust to one major change in routine. I get it, it makes sense, but, *sigh*

I was very disappointed to hear I wasn't going to have him around for the next few months. I shed a few tears, felt lonely and a little lost.

But then my inner two year-old popped up her head. "Didn't I just see an email advertising a five week, Wednesday morning, art class starting the first week in January? I miss doing art..." I haven't explored why, but I pretty much stopped drawing when I climbed into the camper van. One thing happened, then another, and I never got started back up again.

I called the next day; they still had room in the class (Intermediate Drawing). I signed up on the spot. I was a little nervous before heading out for the first class a week ago today. Would I like the other students? Would they like me? Would I like my teacher? I guess the first day of school is still the first day of school, no matter how old I get.

Turns out, I still like art class. I like buying new pencils and supplies. I like the other students (all women), they seem to like me. The teacher knows enough of her stuff to be able to teach me (and, I'm sure, a lot more than that...)

We started with some basics; contour drawing (no erasing, draw the picture in one continuous line), blind contour drawing (now do the same thing, but without looking at the picture you're drawing once you've placed your pencil in its starting spot). As I picked up my pencil and put it to paper, the techniques started coming back to me. Stop, breathe, relax your shoulders. Let your thoughts still. Don't try to draw the object, rather, draw the shapes within the shape. Look at light and shadow.

My touch was tentative, the pencil barely making marks on the paper. I pressed a little harder, and the picture started to take shape. I was pleased to find, even with the first drawing, my picture of a person looked like a person. Not a second grader's version of a stick drawing (which is where I started eight years ago), not some sort of mutant ape, but a person. My skills from the classes I took eight years ago are rusty, but they have not disappeared, much to my relief!

Before starting, I had given myself permission to make bad art (it was the only way to get me to step in the door), so I didn't mind so much that the polish from the last time I drew was missing from the finished product. Rather, I was thrilled to find I was still able to fall into my meditative art zone; a place where the rest of the world falls away and my focus narrows to my drawing tools, the paper in front of me, and the picture taking shape on its surface.

When I can get myself into my art zone, I find a quiet place, a place of peace. I need some inner peace and quiet these days; am grateful I followed the impulse to sign up for the class. The skills will come. Or not. The important part is that I'm in the class and doing the drawings.  I've missed art...