During my first year of high school, a door was opened to previously unimagined capabilities.
I remember learning Je m’appelle Clare, and yet I’m still waiting to travel to France so I can tell someone – anyone – that my name is Clare.
I was in awe of Egypt and the great pyramids, yet so terrified by the tales of the curse of the mummy that as close as I will ever be to any pyramid, anywhere in the world, is watching BBC Knowledge or National Geographic on television.
And I smile every time I think of Mr Rouse. Our name for him said it all – Rouse the Mouse. He really was exactly where he belonged, running around and around and around in the science lab.
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Looking back on these memories though it saddens me that I can only remember the name of my science teacher. At the time I thought I would always remember the name of my art teacher because everything changed when I opened the door and stepped into the art room.
I loved every aspect of art. Learning to select the ideal canvas, considering the size and shape of the frame, the feel of the fabric and the fibres. Using caution to ensure it was perfect for the subject I had chosen to work with.
I loved the application of paint. Squeezing it from the tube, and blending colours to create vibrant variations that existed somewhere on the colour wheel. Wet on my fingers it was smooth and silky, and sometimes when it dried, it was all rough and rutted with sharp little peaks and crude little edges.
I loved learning brush techniques. How subtle changes in the way I held a brush completely altered the impression of the paint upon the canvas. Learning that a fine brush with only a few hairs combined with a gentle stroke defined delicate detail to intrigue the observer.
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The free spirit that was my art teacher held a key that unlocked my creative capabilities. My very own cosmos simply bursting with artistic ideas and overflowing with infinite possibilities.
If I take a deep breath and close my eyes, I can still see my galaxy. I can still see those possibilities, those vibrant stars.
As if time stood still, they simply are.
Each one a precious and unique capability, gently floating in my creative cosmos.
Each waiting for me to reach out and place my hand within its path; waiting for me to tenderly cradle it; waiting for me to share it with you.
Nineteenth-century French artist, Edgar Degas, once said:
Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.
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Breathtaking, inspiring images that serve to remind me of the infinite capabilities that exist within My Creative Cosmos can be found on my Pinterest board called Vincent’s Place.