I got in. I was an art student at last. Apart from being invested in becoming a musician when I was a teenager, I think that I was too lacking in confidence to take the leap back then. Low self-esteem. Shyness. Lack of belief in my abilities. I don’t think I was aware of the purpose of the whole enterprise. Which was to expose the prospective artist to various disciplines. To have a go at ceramics, photography, sculpture and so on. Life drawing was compulsory every week.
We were taught the rudiments of colour theory and had to make our own colour wheel combining subtle shifts of hue, whilst matching complementary colours on the opposite side. A finicky and time consuming task which took me days to complete. I loved it.
I loved every aspect of art school.
The purpose of all this was fundamental.
To let you …. dare to dream. To discover your potential. Can I do this? Could these artworks help me on my path?
A professional in each area would train us up. Teach the basic technical necessities. Get us started. Point each person in the right direction. Introduce us to the practitioners who proceeded us. Research. Find stuff out.
Of equal importance was the notion of being part of a community of like-minded souls. A support system in itself. A way of life maybe…