Is there something in the air this spring? I haven’t the foggiest clue but there surely must be as I’ve begun indulging in a spot of creativity every so often. At least once a day I succumb to whipping out my tin of watercolour paints, a black biro, a pair of scissors and the good old stack of magazines for clippings. Oh, and that bottle of glue.
I find myself creating works of art, once
again, in my life. Only this time it’s all going down in my diary rather than a sketchbook. You may call it an art journal. A scrapbook. A notepad. I’m pretty sure there’s a label called ‘junk’ journal too but I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve had a ton of sketchbooks all the way back from secondary school, colleges and university. I never looked at them as books for my work but in fact I had kept them dear to my heart. What can I say, I was in love with art. So they were personal to me. I doubt my educational boards ever understood them much really. It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t mention the very few people who inspired me to express myself creatively and that what I had was talent. It was special.
It may sound as naff as it looks as I write it down but back in primary school the teachers were the ones who saw what I had as quite special. Maybe they said it to every pupil though. Maybe I was gullible. Or maybe deep down I really felt happy hearing the praises and awe that people showed when they saw my work. There is actually a smile on my face, I just remembered one thing that came as the price I had to pay at an early age for my passion. It was how I’d become popular in my classes for being the ‘artist’ and so when ever we had an art lesson I’d get a rush of whisper in my ear, in a hurried tone, asking me if I would be able to draw the work for them. Regardless of all the questions I took the compliments anyway and pushed onwards to degree level.
My dear Mother was not that much of a supporter but she watched me from afar, her eldest daughter out of two, lose herself into another world where she was so incredibly happy.
When I was young I’d had a go at making plastersine statues, and I remember so vividly how, much like any child would to their mother, I chirped “mum, mum, look what I made”. It was a Bird. A very good one for my age, believe me on that. She was impressed that I could really make something so delicate. Then the beak came off and it does touch my heart as I can recall how she felt very bad and tried to nurse the broken figurine back together again. She had behaved as though she herself had created it and so fixing it was her job. It showed she really did like my little bird. Not sure what happened to it in the end. Where had my little bird gone.
My second real supporter was my sister, as any sister would. Especially if it was just the two of you. I’d always constantly get her feedbacks and opinions on my work but it isn’t the case anymore when art had only just been brought back to life.
My third supporter who has a special place in my heart was my art teacher from secondary school. I literally appeared to be the teachers pet to everyone (back then these things really did exist), as all praise was towards me and my work whilst every other peer had disgust flung at them, or the ‘no surprise’ look. She was a funny shaped lady with the original strawberry blonde/ginger hair. It was always slightly messy, just passed her shoulders and a badly cut fridge. Her face was narrow and her body was generously plump. She would always wear knee length skirts and dresses that came below her knees with a cardigan thrown on. Her shoes were always of comfort and she used to have thee most unique and comical voice Id ever come across. A high pitched voice that kind of garbles when in anger, an elderly,mature tone but at the same time, as if it hasn’t hit puberty yet. It was odd. But that was what suited her. More than half the class would sniffer behind her back at amusement when she harped in deafening tones at someone’s lack of skill or genuine mistake. I would feel fab about that often but never let anyone know. With me she was different, she could see my passion, and I felt she understood it well. Which is why she encouraged and supported me. She had given me confidence which empowered me to take a huge risk for my final piece for my Art GCSE examination.which was a pencil sketch on board. That was it. Nothing remarkable. I didn’t know if my sketchbooks would catch up with the credits but something made me take that risk to just do a a pencil work. I’d drawn many views of the same building that stood outside my house, and they’d all connected together. It might not sound great written down, which is why you would have had to see it to understand it’s beauty. She’s passed away now though. She isn’t with us anymore.May her soul rest in peace.
Back to my creativity log, the best times have been in the early evenings when I have a happy baby sleeping away or playing on her own. The works haven’t been about my entries in any way really but they have been very therapeutic, to get messy and not really judging too much of what is being marked down on paper with no in denial. Although I have once gone and made a typography piece once, as I – for the life of me, could not track down my scissors.
I found them in the end however, so going to continue making creative pages for my diary from now on.
Have you had a sudden urge to create something this spring? What was it? Share below!