Art class

Since my freshman year in college, I’ve always wanted to take an art class. Instead, I opted for more “sensible” classes. This month, 29 years later, I finally enrolled in that art class.

I don’t think I can adequately express the impact of my weekly Sunday morning art class. Each Sunday, I arrive at the studio with other students, following the gentle instructions of a renowned local artist. He’s patient and kind, centering his instructions on accessibility and joy.

In a few short weeks, I’ve learned about underpainting, shadows, mixing color, dimension, perspective, layering, gradient, and trusting that I am creative simply because I know how to breathe.

There’s something to be said about bringing a canvas to life with your hands, with hours of silence and attentiveness.

Beyond the studio, I now observe art with heightened awareness and I pay close attention to trees, flowers, buildings, vases, faces noting shadows and colors as if preparing to paint.

I’ve also picked up a habit of sketching daily. It feels like the beginning of an intentional creative life. Trying to counter these words by Mary Oliver.

“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”