Some South Woodford scribbles from DD, our resident diarist and observer of all things local. Illustrated by Evelyn Rowland
I’ve never been any good at painting. I am perfectly OK when giving the garden shed an occasional coat of preservative. If it’s a nice warm day. (I favour willow green.) But a ‘still life’ or a portrait? Impossible.
I do remember drawing a square box with four windows, a door, roof and chimney, identical to what the rest of the class produced when we were five. I recall my art teacher at Woodford High with great affection, but I think she appreciated my willingness to scrub up the palettes over the butler sink rather than any skill with brush on paper. David’s dad was a fine artist and my son is very gifted. So, there might be some talent hovering around in our genes. Perhaps I had always, secretly, wanted to advance beyond the kindergarten crayons stage. Over the years, I have assembled a large collection of sketchbooks and paints and brushes from jumble sales and markets. But putting them to use always seemed to slip down the priorities on my to-do list.
So, when an invitation to enrol in a 14-week beginners’ art course came through the door last July, I put it to one side. And later picked it up again. “Are you thinking of doing that course?” asked David. “I’ll come with you if you like.” (Newspapers do regularly feature advice on exercising the brain by learning something new, don’t they? Especially as we get older.) We started in September. Within easy walking distance too, down at the Salvation Army premises on Daisy Road. The local residents must have become accustomed to the bevy of hopeful Picassos passing by, carrying their rather promising portfolios, every Thursday afternoon. We’ve both done our share of teaching in the past; now, we’d gone back to school. As very ‘mature students’.
A sense of community soon developed. “Avoid looking at other people’s efforts,” we were advised. But “stroll round and chat and see how others are doing,” was also recommended, which led to some much-appreciated mutual encouragement. Imagine my warm glow of hope when one fellow beginner, en route to the coffee and biscuits trolley, paused to comment: “You can definitely see that’s supposed to be a fox!” As the weeks went by, the social aspect of our ‘predicament’ intensified. We talked. “I’ve been taken right out of my comfort zone,” admitted Nicole. “I’m engrossed. This blocks out everything else. Great therapy.” I asked Eric how he came to register on the course. “I’m retired now. Wanted to get out of the house”. But it was so much more: Eric had visited Venice and Rome, been stunned by the lavish murals in churches large and small. “Everywhere you looked, astounding art. I wanted to learn more.”
Diane impressed me deeply as she explained and analysed her feelings. She had been the head of a primary school. Now, she was finding this course “immensely difficult”. She felt uncomfortable, even threatened by being unable fully to grasp and carry out the set projects. But underlying this discomfort was her deepened awareness of how this had probably been what some of her young pupils experienced when the smiling teacher urged them to tackle a challenging new task. Diane did admit that she had, just minutes before, managed to complete that day’s painting. Her daughter, leaving for work that morning, had called out: “Just try and enjoy it today, Mum.” Now, perhaps, things were moving that way.
Valerie was only too happy to chat. Appreciated a pause to sit back and gaze at her progress so far. “I’ve never drawn a partridge before! I’m trying to decide if I’ve overdone it, or underdone it. You don’t want to spoil the OK bits of your picture. But is there some tweaking that could improve it? A picture has got to grab you, hasn’t it? There’s a Madonna in the National Portrait Gallery that I always make a beeline for. So beautiful. I could take it home with me. But I’m not a religious person.” Nagma was thoughtful too: “I’m loving the course. I feel I’m getting better. But I really wish we could all paint each other. I’d love to be a portrait artist.” Janice treated me to a dollop of delightful philosophy: “I’ve worked in a high-octane career all my life. There was no time to nurture any creative gift I might have had. What happens is, you sort of stop learning. When you do that you finish expanding yourself. This course is like going back to childhood! No weight of responsibility. You can start again. You don’t know what you are capable of until you try. It’s been a joy!”
And what about us? We’ve learnt about perspective and the basics of figure drawing. (But no nudes, in case you were wondering!) We’ve tried pencil sketches and watercolour landscapes, a trio of gorgeous figs in oil pastels. Assorted subjects in acrylics: David said my ‘abstract lemons’ looked like casserole dishes. I thought his looked like a cross between bulldog clips and high-viz helmets. A pair of shoes proved unexpectedly tricky as a subject. Our tutor described mine as “caricaturistic”, which I took to be her kindly way of saying “decidedly odd”. I realised when applying my final brushstroke that both shoes were for a right foot. We’ll never be hanging in the Tate Gallery. But we have been surprised by the pleasure of the experiment and even some modest sense of achievement. Next time we pack for a holiday, sketchbooks may well be included. Certainly, we have made a small step forward in appreciating more about the skill of the great artists. And the kids have had fun posting their comments on WhatsApp. One of the most challenging classes was dedicated to painting objects made of glass. “Could you tell which of us painted which?” David asked his daughter. “Of course,” she said. “DD painted one wine bottle and two glasses. You painted two wine bottles and one glass.”
To contact DD with your thoughts or feedback, email dd@swvg.co.uk