It was a baptism by fire, with long life-drawing sessions followed by group critiques. Every lunchtime I cried into my sandwich. My sketches were stick figures compared with the brilliantly rendered drawings my classmates produced.
I emerged from those intense months of immersion in art and its history convinced that this was my calling. That crazy decision made me quit my job.
This mix of teaching, art practice and parenting felt brilliant. I wore black, dyed my hair rainbow colours and believed I was one of the cool kids.
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