Okay......I realised a few days back that I have been 'dabbling' in 'art' for 14 years. It's somewhat disconcerting when you suddenly figure out that 14 years has passed without you fully realising it and that you've actually reached that point in your 'age' where you can say stuff like that.....
....'
Oh wow, I don't think I've seen that person in 20 years' and the fact that you're actually being literal is very strange, although I do understand that a good 55% of the population have been almost used to it for some time. In a weird way - it's kinda cool. I almost feel a glimmer of wisdom in my future! I guess its explains the grey hair te he he.
But, back to the art.......I went to art school. My family was not the most supportive - I was 30 and busy flipping out a little and they were all terribly practical about one's academic choices, art being the least practical in their view. The first year was a Foundation year because I'd never taken art classes before and I just wanted to see if I could do it basically. It was fantastic! I had passion and it was delicious! Then I went into the BFA program and the first year wasn't too bad....then it went downhill from there. My main tutor was not equipped for the job anymore and definitely hanging in there for retirement - he had a flavor of the year and it was my turn - every year. He was never that fond of me before but I really sparked his ire over an argument over where I wanted my desk to be in my studio space. Not surprisingly, of all the students I started with, there was the only one left to stay in Ceramics to the fourth year. That the one student to make it was me was pretty funny - stubborn to the point of destruction, I guess.
Me.....my state of mind didn't help at all - I was just about as unstable as he was......fresh out of an long term abusive relationship with a service family background to base myself on. Basically he and his buddies spent 3 yrs crushing my spirit as best they could. His mates wouldn't acknowledge me or help me in their classes and assessment time was deliberately intimidating. Ahhhh such memories! When I wrote my first complaint letter, he came down to talk me, which was nice - I guess he wasn't completely evil. He asked me if I knew what it takes to make a pearl......I said a bit of grit.....he said, 'that's right and some artists need a bit of grit'. If he'd taken the time to get to know me, he would have come to discover that I had plenty of my own grit in my bed (to the point where I could barely function) and I wasn't in need of some from him. I remember thinking to myself, 'yea buddy that's true but if you want a good quality pearl, an oyster needs solid support and decent nutrition.' They even tried very hard to fail me at the last assessment of my degree but I fought back and got a re-assessment from outside the art school and, accompanied by a great deal of muttering (and the odd protest letter), the school awarded me my degree in the end.
Hmmm......so that was then. What have I done since then? I have relived it all....every time I've tried to get creative. Like the 6 yr old that overhears a random comment that is not so flattering, I took it all in and kept it all precious as a core belief. How fekking mad. Yes. And I never even figured it out till now.
Two wonderful artists, very gifted and highly respected in their field, spoke up for me at the time - they even made their views known to the local paper. My husband, my friends and my family all supported me. So many people have told me that my work is beautiful and worthy over the years - really wonderful people who I really respect - and it seems like I've never heard them. Like my attention has been so completely held by what one tutor and his cronies had to say. I feel like that kid in the playground who took forever to get up after the bully took his foot of their neck. I've never dared to call myself an artist and every time I've even thought about putting myself out there - the foot comes right back on. I've been laying on that playground for 12 years. How extraordinary.
But there is relief, after all that..........I lifted my head today. And realised that the bully wasn't there anymore. That the kids watching in fear and the other kids backing him up had all gone. That he's grown up, got some therapy and moved to another city. And that if I chose to, I could get up. Just like that.
