art schmart

for the first twenty-odd years of my life, i drew pictures.  mainly people but sometimes floor plans and occasionally trees.  but mostly faces from my imagination.  in my late teens through my early twenties, i took a potpourri of classes ~ a dibble of this, a dabble of that ~ never really settling into any one medium.  this was all a fairly solitary occupation for me.  purely creative, not at all social.  the only class i took with a friend was metalworking.  otherwise, i threw pots, cut and soldered glass, smeared paints, and drew lines with others but completely by myself.  with my peers, i was seen as a writer, and that was definitely an identity of mine in high school.  i was even editor of the school's creative writing journal, the illustrious Winged Words, and churned out free verse like nobody's business.

i've been thinking a bit about creativity recently.

and my own, specifically.

and what happened to it.

between the then and the now.

i conclude that the energy i had focused on art (which was never extreme...it's not like i used every minute of the day to create) has been, for the past two decades, used to grow a marriage and children.  there was very little (and, many years, none) left over for art-making.  i was busy.  and tired.

but it was always simmering.  it's what drove me back to school ten years ago (and, thankfully, what i now get to use almost every day in my professional life).  the need to create something more specific and personal found its way to this blog.  i kind of cringe at the thought that i am a blogger.  frankly....ick.  but there it is.  it was...is...a fairly easy way for me to channel some creative energy in a pleasant way.  to explore creative non-fiction and photography, which are (for me) the easiest and most accessible arts.

which brings me to now.

the day i took my first art class

since 1993.
 

and it was

just right.

i decided to start at the beginning and am taking a 'basic drawing' class.  a way to force myself to draw inanimate objects and remind myself of some techniques.  i feel a bit like the tin man before dorothy found that can of oil.

trunk essentials...jumper cables? check.  shopping bags? check.  massive sketch pad? check.

i will tell you that i was a smidge nervous.  i haven't drawn much at all in between then and now, and i certainly haven't drawn in front of strangers.  or drawn what an instructor told me i had to draw.

i wondered who else would be taking a Saturday morning art class.  there were weekday classes, evening classes.  who gives up half a Saturday for art?

i wondered where i would park downtown.  should i park in the dark deck?  did i have to put money in the meter if i parked on the street?  i zoomed through downtown in my head trying to remember which streets were one-way.

i wondered what to wear.  should i go funky but be preoccupied by my clothing the entire time?  should i go for comfort and warmth but possibly appear, i don't know, completely normal?  (if you know me well, you will know which one i chose.)

i wondered how i was going to endure 2-1/2 hours.  i packed two cheese sticks and a granola bar.

i wondered if i would hate it.

waiting for class to begin.

i chose comfort.  i parked on the street (and stepped gingerly over the opaque frozen stream next to the curb).  i peered at other meters and saw flashing zeros all around.  free!  i practically ran into the art building, like an art-seeking missile, looking for room 127.

torture devices.  (aka still-life props)

next time, i'll know the short cut.  (and i'll park my car in the sun.)  but, inside, into the quiet, dark building; a left, then a right; half-opened doors to other studios; tantalizing glimpses of other art classes; then, room 127!

street-level windows with walking shadows once&again.

the small overlapping circles of life as they are, the instructor (whether she knows it or not) is a friend of friends.  i am no longer surprised.

i drew a box.

still life from my point of view

i loved every minute of it.