back to not-so-basic basics

I’ve been a really bad blogger lately. Sorry. I seem to be demanding a lot upon myself as far as getting things done, and balancing that with work and play is all sliding off kilt. So here’s a little catch-up post to get the ball rolling again.

A little while ago, in an attempt to get out of the house and meet people, I joined a local art group. I’ve been going to a drawing class each Friday afternoon. It’s been really good getting back to basics. Drawing is one of those things that no matter how many times you’ve been “taught” it you can still pick up something new. It’s one of those foundation skills where there is always room to improve. The practice has been great. The teacher is an older gent who used to be a school teacher among other things. He has that wise babbling way about him, and is full of life stories, and I like him very much.

Yesterday he invited me along to a life drawing group he goes to. It’s not a class, just a group of real artists who hire a model, and get together to draw. I was NERVOUS! But it was great. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a drawing group before, where it’s not a structured class. The simple fact that there wasn’t a teacher pacing around critiquing your work really made a difference. I just got on with it and drew freely without worrying if I was doing all that I was supposed to have learnt. And suddenly I found it much easier than normal. To me life drawing is difficult and I always struggle with it, but this time I had fun.

The gathering was at a lady’s house, in her studio at the bottom of her yard. Her house was on the edge of town on a bushy ridge that overlooked rooftops, trees, and caught the gentle breeze. When I went to the bathroom I got to have a little squiz at her house. Big windows looking out across a tree filled private yard, a fair way from any neighbours. Terracotta tiled floor, white walls, with natural looking door frames of unpainted timber shaped like wood, not planks. The bathroom was gorgeous! An antique green sink was the centrepiece of the room, and the shower had no walls, just blinds that separated your nakedness from the sculpture-filled garden. I can’t begin to describe how arty and beautiful it was (in an unintentional, un-contrived way). All the while a bunch of happy artists sketching in the studio at the foot of the garden.

They welcomed me warmly, enthusiastically even, and I had a really wonderful time.

On the drive home my drawing teacher pointed out a beautiful view of the river (an aspect he had painted), and then proceeded to recite “Clancy of the Overflow” in its entirety to me. It was… surreal… one of those days where you find yourself privy to the lives of people very different to yourself, and feel rewarded by the experience.

I’m not sure how often I’ll go as it’s a long way from where I live, but writing all this down has made me realise what a lovely experience it was, and how the journey is probably worth it.