'Life Drawing' by Jan Lloyd

I clutched the painting tightly under my coat to protect it from the rain which had started dripping down. I was excited and pleased that I'd completed the class project to paint a view from a window and I felt sure this would be my entry into Miss Cartwright's good books. I had been at the Fenshaw Infant and Junior school for four years after moving to Delbury from South Wales in 1958. The school was situated at the end of a Victorian row of houses and only five minutes walk from my house. It was a tall imposing red brick building with high windows so the pupils would not be distracted by the outside world. The playground was split in two so girls and boys were separated during play time. The toilets were in an old brick building at the end of the playground and were cold and damp even in the summer months. Despite this seemingly archaic and austere environment I loved the school and had made many friends despite my initial fears on first arrival. My one and only remaining fear was the strict and severe Miss Cartwright who continually reminded me that I would never amount to much and would certainly never, ever, be as clever as my brother who she taught three years previously and was now at the local grammar school.
I arrived at the school breathless from running in an attempt to avoid getting too wet from the down pour. There was a buzz in the queue of children waiting to walk through the entrance. It was the last week of term before the summer holidays and my class were chattering about their various paintings and what they had chosen to paint. We finally reached our class room at the top of the building having taken our wet things off in the cloakroom. Miss Cartwright sat at her desk looking down at the assembled children with her beady eyes and proceeded to take the register. She had a very thick North Welsh accent and her words were pronounced in adenoidal tones which came forth through very red lipstick coated lips. Her cheeks were always covered in too much rouge and her hair sat like a dark mop on top of her head so she resembled a very fierce clown. The register completed, Miss Cartwright announced that we should place our paintings on our desks and await her judgement. I proudly placed my painting out before me looking straight ahead so as not to be put off by the competition. I had chosen as my subject, "A view from my bedroom window". My bedroom window looked out at the River Delby which flowed past the back of the house. I was never bored of looking at this beautiful scene which I awoke to every morning and would always gaze in wonder when I'd drawn the curtains just to check it was still flowing by and at the many seasonal changes which took place on the water. The various wildlife which lived here: ducks, swans, kingfishers, water rats and voles all enjoying the pleasures of the river. There before me was my creation of the pretty river scene which I loved to watch every day. Miss Cartwright drew nearer, I listened to her glowing comments bestowed upon the other pupils getting more excited as she neared my desk. She was then standing in front of me looking at my painting. Her face started to distort and I could see spit flying from her red painted mouth as she spouted distain at my work.
"What an awful mess, why have you painted the water brown? Water is blue." she hissed.
I felt my legs turn to jelly as she continued to rant about my painting. All I could think of was the colour of the river which I saw every day. “It is brown,” I thought, “it's muddy and brown!”
Miss Cartwright then held my painting up to the rest of the class and continued with my humiliation by stating that messy paintings like mine would be eliminated from the competition and proceeded to tear my picture into pieces. I was devastated to see my beautiful painting torn up and dropped into the litter bin. Some of the children stared at me, others dared not look as I fought back the tears which were stinging my eyes. Miss Cartwright then stood at her desk and announced the winner; it was Colin Hough, who'd drawn his garden with a dog in the foreground, entitled "Misty". He went up to the desk beaming and Miss Cartwright gave him a box of toffees. I sat looking down, hurt and confused. “The river is brown,” I kept repeating to myself, “not blue.....”
That was forty seven years ago now and a lot of things have happened since that awful day but I remember it vividly. My self esteem was shattered and I never felt confident about painting after that. I still live by the same river and it's still brown and muddy. Life was always difficult after that, I struggled to fulfil my ambitions because of Miss Cartwright's cruel comments. I failed my eleven plus, unlike my clever brother, married young, had two sons, divorced and worked at various jobs over the years. I now find myself at home with my partner, disillusioned having reached middle age and still dreaming about an exciting creative life but it seems to be passing me by and I still continue to clean, cook, wash and iron!
It was over a year ago, when I bumped into an old friend, Cath, and we got talking and caught up with the gossip. Cath was starting an art course and suggested I joined her, it would be starting in a week and there were still places left. All my fears of old started to creep over me and I made some excuse and said, "What would I be doing on an art course, I can't draw for goodness sake". Cath said she couldn't either but thought it would be fun. I went home feeling uplifted from our meeting but still not sure about joining the course; Miss Cartwright's fury loomed from my memory. The following day Cath rang me and tried persuading me again. She reassured me that I should at least try and that I could always leave if I didn't like it. Still feeling like that devastated school girl I felt the butterflies in my stomach thinking I would never be able to lift a paint brush again. But I suddenly found myself saying, “Yes” and heard Cath shouting, “Hooray!” down the phone. "I'll pick you up next Tuesday and don't worry it will be fun!"
Cath and I arrived at the class and walked hesitantly in and was greeted by the art teacher, a very bohemian looking character, called Frank Morgan. There were several women and one other man and they all seemed friendly and we introduced ourselves and sat back with eager anticipation. Our first assignment was an autumnal theme and were all sent into the garden to collect appropriate material. I chose some unusual coloured leaves and a pine cone. As we sat around drinking coffee and dabbling with our various pictures I felt a surge of enthusiasm. “I can do this,” I thought, “ I'm not that nervous little school girl any longer, I'm going to enjoy the moment!”
For the next term we continued to produce our creations which were met with positive feedback or sometimes constructive criticism. Over the weeks my confidence grew and my friendships with the rest of the group also blossomed. I realised from chatting to the people there that we all have a story to tell and our lives are not always what we dreamt of. One lady was struggling to care for an elderly mother, another had suffered a nervous breakdown. There were many more stories told over the months and we all helped one another through the ups and downs of life sharing our joys and sorrows and creating little masterpieces along the way. I realised all aspects of life was in attendance here and it helped put my life into perspective and made me realise I had nothing to complain about.
At the end of the year it was the usual practice to have an exhibition of work. My old fears and anxieties returned and started to panic about the viewers reactions and responses. Frank was continually reassuring and encouraged all of us to pick at least three pieces. I decided to put in three pieces of abstract work and busily made preparations. I had them framed and labeled and took them to the gallery where they were to be presented. Cath was there along with the rest of the group and we set about displaying our work. Although dubious about my contribution I couldn't help but feel proud of what we had all achieved through the year.
The opening night arrived and we waited nervously for the viewing public to come in to offer their opinions. We served wine and nibbles and it all seemed like another world but the night went well and most of the comments were positive.
We all had to take turns to sit for a few hours over the next fortnight should anyone want to purchase a painting. Cath and I duly took our turn on the rota and we sat patiently whilst people wondered in to view. Imagine my surprise when a lady started enthusing about one of my paintings. She was from New York and one of my abstracts was entitled "New York Skyline". The lady finally came to the desk and asked me if she could buy the painting and was leaving that afternoon so needed to take it that day. It was with utter disbelief that I removed the picture from the wall and packed it and then received money for it. My thoughts returned to the classroom where I had been so horribly humiliated all those years ago and felt a big surge of pride whilst I handed over the painting. Cath also sold a painting and we both went to a bar later and celebrated our new found fame. I now felt completely free of that horrible experience and was able to finally let go. I now realise that it should never have affected me so profoundly but the life stories at my new art classes had helped me to realise that. At last I could now move forward to a positive future having found an interest for just me!