I started art classes about 18 months ago, probably at a time when I needed it most (although I didn't know it then). At first, my only bravery was actually turning up each week. We were doing 'clay' and I certainly wasn't brave enough to shape anything for myself. The one bird I made of my own design became fondly known as 'the ugly bird'. Despite its ugliness, it still sits on my balcony watching the river roll by.
In the time since the 'art start', I have changed. I am now a little braver. I have a few new skills. I adore 'show and tell'. I love the company of my fellow students. I soak up as much as I can from Kath.
Sometimes, when Wednesday rolls around, I know it will be a push to get there, but I always make sure I get there. Everything else (except maybe a Carroll Cup grand final) comes second to art class. I then cruise through the rest of my week, plodding away on a project, stopping the chatter, getting in the zone, losing time.
Without question, it's the cheapest therapy in town.